


Black Velvet

by DjarinsRiduur



Series: Black Velvet [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cussing, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DjarinsRiduur/pseuds/DjarinsRiduur
Summary: Shit happens all the time right? Is that a good enough answer as to why you ended up in that bar in need of forgetting your past?
Relationships: 1980s Din Djarin/You, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Series: Black Velvet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183535
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fair warning this is not in the Star Wars universe!! This takes place in the 1980s in New York, so if you're not looking for an AU then don't read this. It is posted on my Tumblr as well. 
> 
> Warnings: not explicit yet, cussing, angst, mentions of drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption.

The 1980s, a time of sex, drugs, and rock and roll that lasted from the sixties and seventies. Except this one had more, because it was the decade of excess. More of this, more that, just more of everything. It bled into the life of everyone around, into the homes of people, and soon became a way of life.

The night life in New York was to die for; always guaranteed a good time that hopefully ended with a fuck. Brutal in a way, but it allowed for ease and no questions asked. You had thrived on it, lived for it, and enjoyed it as much as possible. Except there comes a time when things were set for the worst and you were left to pick up whatever was on the ground. In your case it was your boyfriend of a year cheating on you and kicking your ass to the curb. Had you done something wrong? No. He was just an asshole and you had yet to see it until you found him balls deep in another woman.

After saying fuck it you went on a mission to rid yourself of the melancholy that wanted to stick to you like perfume. Instead of staying home you went out. You found people to sink your teeth into, to make you forget about the man who screwed you over even for just a few minutes. You indulged in all manner of pleasure but it always came back. The crushing realization that you were truly and utterly alone. What were you supposed to do with that?

Were you meant to push it off? Find a different reason for finding joy? Except joy never came easy. That’s why so many people sought help for it in the form of drugs, the high of cocaine all around you. This is why whenever you returned home to your empty cold apartment you wished that there was something to focus on. The indulging soon became a necessity which turned to havoc, as you grasped for any small piece of yourself to return.

In other words. You were completely fucking lost and needed to find a path back to who you were. You weren’t exactly sure what that entailed, but you knew it wasn’t in a bottle of whiskey, except you still couldn’t stop. The high of finding pleasure in other people, places, and things was too great for you to deny. It left you in an endless loop; one you didn’t want to get out of, but still screamed for help from while you were in it.

\------

One long night of bar hopping by yourself led you to the run-down place somewhere outside the city. You’d say that you were dressed alright for it if the row of bikes outside told you anything about it. On your way out you’d thrown on black clothes to hopefully fit in with the crowd at the bars better. The leather jacket you’d bought a year ago in a store you couldn’t remember the name of still held the name of someone. It was faded but you were still able to make out one letter of the name; except how was one letter going to help you find out the whole name.

Huffing out a breath you shoved your hands in your pockets already needing another drink even though you’d had plenty. Glancing around you could hear chatter of people hanging about, but you didn’t bother yourself with them. You weren’t here to make friends; just to forget the reason as to why you had to come here in the first place. The smell of cigarette smoke hit your nose as you entered the bar and you tried not to wrinkle your nose at it. There was hardly any light, but you supposed that appealed to people, and the music at the old beat-up jukebox played a slow rock ballad.

Overall, it was a shit place barely held together by the roof on top of it. You just hoped that it had the whiskey you liked to drink. A few men’s eyes followed you and you didn’t bother with doing anything about it. The only thing you were focused on was the empty seat at the bar. People were regulars here; you could tell by the way they lounged around without a care in the world. There was no rush of the city here; no need for it, because it wasn’t meant for anything more than a drink.

You took your spot and kept your eyes on the array of bottles that were on display. One in particular caught your attention, but someone walking in front of you blocked your view of it. Brown eyes. That seemed to be what you noticed before you could see the rest of him. They caught you right away. He wore a plain black Henley that was rolled up to his elbows, a black pair of jeans hanging nicely on him, and a necklace around his neck. You found yourself staring at the tanned skin of his neck far longer than you should have, but at this point you didn’t care.

He had a nice neck, but you shook that thought out of your head before anything else could slip into it. You weren’t there to get to know anyone. He was cleaning out a glass, not having noticed you yet, or if he did, he didn’t show it. Instead, he let you sit there for a few minutes busy with what he was doing and you were willing to let him do it.

“What can I get you?” he asked without looking up from the glass.

You didn’t expect it and it took his head turning to you to get your head out of the clouds and back to what exactly he’d asked. His voice was deeper than you expected it to be, the raspy tone one you found you favored instantly. If it were any other night you would have asked him to take you home, but it wasn’t just any other night. After an hour of cleaning out your stuff from your ex’s apartment and finalizing your move into your friend’s place, you were worn out from head to toe.

“Whiskey,” you replied.

He nodded turning away from you and grabbing the bottle you had your eyes on before he even headed in your direction. Maybe he noticed you staring at it? Or maybe he was just lucky. Either way you thanked him mentally for choosing that one and not some other brand. The glass was filled halfway, but you were tempted to tell him to continue until it overflowed onto the bar.

It was a night of drowning your sorrows. Hoping the escapism of alcohol would work in your favor.

“Anything else?” He was very straightforward with his questions. You wondered if he talked much other than when he needed to and figured he didn’t feel the desire to.

Shaking your head, you reached for the glass, eyes shifting to a different part of the bar. You’d rather drink silently than make conversation with a stranger. That is until you realized he was still standing there, watching you with stoic eyes. It unnerved you, making you feel as though he could see right through to your soul. Who knows maybe he could?

“Yes?” you asked. The tone came across as ruder than you intended, but he didn’t seem fazed by it.

“Breakup?”

One fucking word. He’d managed to whittle you down to one fucking word and you didn’t appreciate it one bit. Yet at the same time you were almost impressed by how quickly he could read you. People always told you that you weren’t the easiest to read except he seemed to be able to see you as if you were a novel. One he was perusing as easily as swallowing down the whiskey in your hand.

“How did you know?” Your tone had shifted to sounding glum now.

An eyebrow raised slightly before he was leaning his palms against the bar. “You have that look.”

Were you supposed to be offended by that?

“Look?” you asked leaning forward.

“Like you’re lost.” His eyes roamed over you and you suddenly realized you didn’t like this. Sure, a bartender was seen as a makeshift therapist for the night, but he seemed to be actually showing you everything that was wrong with you.

Glancing down into your glass you tried not to focus on how he still analyzed you. “You’re good at that whole reading people thing. Should do it for a living.”

He scoffed, picking up the glass he’d been polishing again. “Easier to kill people than to help them.”

“Harsh way to look at life.” You bravely met his eyes again, still unsure of yourself around him even though you had just sat down.

“A realistic way,” he replied.

You were about to interject and tell him it wasn’t true, but someone’s loud booming voice tore your attention away. Glancing over you came to see a man slam his hand down on the bar, a bill underneath it, with a Cheshire type smile on his lips.

“Djarin! I need a drink.” He didn’t seem to bother with you and for that you were thankful.

The bartender you soon learned to have an odd name of Djarin rolled his eyes. He didn’t say anything beyond muttering a word you didn’t hear and grabbing a bottle behind him with clear liquid. He didn’t bother pouring it and instead reached for the bill that sat on the bar between them. You noticed the way his shoulders tensed when he grabbed it, but you assumed that it was the low light playing tricks on your eyes.

There didn’t seem to be much to say after that. Your conversation with him ended and he resumed what he’d been doing as if you weren’t there to begin with. Instead, you focused on the others in the bar; the way they were all comfortable with each other. Had you walked into a biker bar and not even realized it? Wait but you’d seen the bikes parked outside.

“It’s not a bad place.” He said behind you causing you to turn back and face him.

“I never said...”

“But you were thinking it.” The rag was thrown over his shoulder, his hands going back to the bar and you glanced down noticing the few rings he wore. One with an intricate detailing on it that you made out to be words. You couldn’t recognize the language even if you tried.

“How do I _know_ it’s not a bad place? It could be a shithole bar for all I know.” The whiskey made you brave apparently.

Were your eyes playing tricks on you again or did his lips tilt up into a small smile. “Because you’re talking to the owner of said shithole bar.”

Your mouth snapped shut immediately, eyes widening slightly at the realization that you’d just insulted his place. How the hell were you supposed to get out of this one now? There didn’t seem to be an exit. Maybe if you got lucky the floor would open and swallow you whole. It seemed that the alcohol did more than make your mouth loose, it made you a complete idiot who forgot how to interact with humans.

“I’m sorry I didn’t... It’s not a bad place. I like it. Very homey.” This was just you trying to save your own ass and you were failing at it. Miserably.

He however seemed to be enjoying every second, his smile growing wider with every fumble you made. “You like it huh?”

You nodded not trusting your mouth to make any more sense than your brain did at that moment. This was dangerous territory. You didn’t have a ride home and you certainly couldn’t remember where you were in the city, having just said to the cab driver _take me anywhere I can get a drink_. What were the chances you’d wind up here?

“What’s the name of this place then?” Now he was being cruel. “If you like it so much.”

You had come to the conclusion that Djarin was a dick. In fact, you were ninety-nine percent certain that he enjoyed being a dick.

“The name is...” Once again, your eyes dashed around the place looking for a sign when you came to land on an old faded one that hung above his head. “The Crest?”

He tipped his head into a nod. “Good, you can still read. Means you’re not drunk yet.”

“Why is the sign so faded?” you asked ignoring his comment.

He shrugged, picking up another glass that was in need of polishing. “It’s old. Things fade when they get old.”

“You should repaint it.” You took the second glass he poured you, choosing to sip on the whiskey rather than down it in one go.

He chose to not answer your question instead focusing on something behind you. A few men had entered the bar and you noticed the same insignia sewn onto the backs of their jackets. Not a bad place, but maybe it did house bad people every once in a while. Your eyes met the gaze of the one in front, his harsh glare making you stiffen in your seat, focusing on your drink instead. What you definitely didn’t need was to get yourself into more trouble than you already were in.

“Djarin,” the man said gruffly behind you.

This wasn’t your place, and it seemed that no matter how hard you tried to stay out of trouble, you were put directly in its line of sight. Djarin stood up straighter, his shoulders squaring to show his full height and even you had to admit; he looked intimidating. You could sneak out of here, pretend you’d never been there, but the idiot in you told you to stay. Again, you blamed the whiskey.

“Made a friend?”

He talked less than Djarin did; his sentences short and clipped forcing you to pay attention to what he said, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to say it again.

You shifted on the stool keeping your gaze down. He didn’t like that you figured out, but he didn’t let you know right away. Instead, he plopped down into the stool next to you waiting for Djarin to pour him a glass of the whiskey you were drinking. There was a silent conversation between them. One that clearly told you who was in charge when they were in the bar and who had to be a bystander. You just didn’t expect it to be the man who owned the bar to be the bystander.

“Are you a newcomer?” Another shot of whiskey was poured into your glass.

“Paz,” Djarin growled out. Your eyes shot to his noticing the way the warm brown hardened to a glare. He didn’t like whoever this man was very much, yet something else told you that they were as thick as thieves.

A cough brought back your attention to the man beside you. “Uh...yes?”

“You seem unsure.” Paz downed the whiskey pouring himself another one. “Yes or no?”

"Leave her alone.” The bartender looked like he was ready to leap across the bar and strangle Paz, but you didn’t want a fight happening because of you. So, you sat up straighter and looked Paz straight in the eyes.

“Yes, I’m new. What’s it to you jackass?”

Bad answer.

You could see the way his eye twitched slightly at your tone and you tensed your body, waiting for whatever form of anger you’d have to live through. Except it never came. Instead, you listened to him break out into laughter, his head thrown back and shoulders shaking. Were you still supposed to run? The thought sounded appealing the longer you sat there.

“I like you,” Paz said before getting up from his seat.

The man behind the bar still stood tensely, almost as if he was waiting for a battle to break out. Was he expecting to fight the man who talked to you? If so, why? He’d just met you. His gaze shifted to you for a second until he decided to busy himself with other things, leaving you to grow very well acquainted with the glass in your hand.

You weren’t sure how many drinks you had, or how many hours passed, but soon things began to turn dizzy. The buzz from the alcohol ran through your veins and the longer you sat there the more you contemplated on going home. Your friend usually spent the nights in her fiancé’s apartment, and the idea of returning to an empty place made your heart ache. Maybe you deserved it after the way you acted. The thought really did like to come up in your mind a lot, forcing you to believe it was your fault he left, but you knew it wouldn’t be true.

A song played giving you something to focus on and you noticed the rest of the bar was pretty much empty. People seemed to be getting up to leave just as you stumbled off your stool. To say you were drunk was an understatement. You were utterly shitfaced, but it didn’t occur to you at the time.

There was a sound of a door opening in the background before the bartender from before sauntered back in. He threw the towel onto the bar with a sigh before turning to wipe things down. Another long day finally coming to an end for both of you it seemed. Maybe he wouldn’t notice you standing there ogling him, or at least you hoped he wouldn’t. Had he been this pretty when you first got there?

Almost as if he could feel you watching him, his gaze turned on you; eyes flicking down your figure before a frown settled on his lips. You couldn’t read him even if you tried and you certainly did try. Maybe narrowing your eyes to see better would help, but you didn’t know you were actually doing just that. Your heart jumped at the sight of the slight twitch in his lips, but then the frown returned making you wonder what he was upset about.

“Everything okay?” you asked louder than you meant to.

Djarin’s frown deepened. “How much did you drink?”

He wanted you to calculate the number of drinks you had? Now? When you couldn’t even remember how long you’d been there to begin with. Furrowing your eyebrows, you held up a hand beginning to count silently, your lips forming around the numbers. After about a minute you came up blank. Maybe if you retraced your steps, but no you were sitting in one spot for who knows how long. What even was the question again?

“Five? I think.” Five drinks equal a whole bottle of whiskey. Yes, that makes complete sense.

“So, you’re drunk.” The frown traveled to his forehead before he was letting out another sigh and rubbing the skin between his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to step forward and nearly tripping over a stool.

If you heard correctly, he sighed again, his eyes zeroing in on your near incoherent figure. “For fucks sake,” he muttered.

You leaned heavily against the bar feeling your stomach churn as he headed around towards where you were. He was taller than you realized, his broad shoulders making him even more intimidating than earlier. All you needed was a cab to be called, maybe some help into the cab, and you would be good to go. Except he didn’t look like he’d be kind enough to call you a cab. Maybe he was one of those bartenders who kicked you out without a second thought as to your well-being, and you hoped that wasn’t the case.

“Call me a cab,” you blurted out.

He stepped closer to you, gripping your arms and helping you balance on your shaky legs. “You must be really shitfaced.”

The room turned dizzy and you stumbled forward into his chest mumbling out an apology before trying to straighten yourself. What the hell did you want to get so drunk for in the first place? But then you remembered. Everything you did to numb the pain of loneliness that seeped its way back into your bones at the end of every night. You’d have to go home and do it all again. Live with it. And you didn’t know if you wanted to; if you could anymore.

“Just call me a cab.” Your voice came out quieter than before causing his eyebrows to raise up slightly. “I’ve got to get home.”

His hands didn’t leave your arms, instead pressing his fingers into you lightly. Almost as if to say he was still there; trying his best to comfort you in a way. “Is there someone I can call to help you?”

You held back the pang that went through your heart and shook your head. “No.” Looking at the faded sign of the bar again you traced the curves of the name with your eyes. “My friend she’s not there.”

If someone had told you that you’d be ready to spill your guts to a bartender the day you moved in with your friend beforehand you’d have laughed. Life hadn’t been perfect, but you were happy to say the least. Now you weren’t so sure what you felt, or even wanted to feel at this point. He had said it perfectly earlier.

You were lost.

“Come on,” he said, stepping back and leading you with him.

“What are you doing?” Your words were slurring together at this point.

He didn’t answer, just helping to lead you away from the bar and towards a door in the back. The statement of killing people he’d made earlier came back to your mind and you suddenly wondered if it was true. If it was, did he intend on killing you? You should probably run at this point, but the alcohol in your body was making you doze in and out of reality.

“Where are we going?” you asked when he opened the door to a set of stairs. “Are you going to kill me?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I’m not going to kill you.”

One foot up the stairs and you were already falling over. Normally alcohol didn’t hit you this hard, but after three hours of bar hopping, you’d consumed probably more than you should have. The overall toll it was having on your body was exhausting to say the least. He moved you until one of his arms went behind the back of your knees and one behind your back. You didn’t expect him to lift you into his arms and you let out a yelp feeling the world shift for you again.

“I can’t stay here,” you mumbled out. “I have to get home.”

He took the stairs slowly and you wondered if that was more for your benefit than his. Moving too fast would definitely cause you to show everything you’d consumed over the night. Instead of focusing on your stomach you turned your attention to him and hoped it would help distract you. His stoic expression didn’t give away anything but you thought you noticed him glance at your face with every other step he took.

There was a certain type of warmth that came off him in waves. While he had a cold exterior towards people and didn’t talk much, you could feel he wasn’t like that on the inside. He would probably be the one to deny it if you said it out loud. But denying it only made it true. Resting your head on his shoulder you soaked in the physical warmth he gave off as well. It lulled you to near sleep, the drowsy state you were in already pushing you over the edge. You however stayed awake just in case, the alarm bells in your head having not fully faded.

The door was already open, but you didn’t get a good look at the place because he was setting your feet on the ground slowly, making sure you didn’t fall over once he got inside. It didn’t work. You stumbled again and nearly fell on your ass, and after having him steady you, eventually you were standing. He stepped back with a wary look in his eyes as to whether or not you’d collapse on him. You sure felt like you would. Questions you had for him ran through your mind and no matter how many times you tried to ask one it fell away. Why did he live above the bar? That seemed to be the only one that stuck.

“You can take the bed. I’ll take the couch.” He turned you, pointing in the direction of the room.

“Okay.” Was it just you or did the door seem a mile away? Looking down at the floor you could see it shift in and out of view as the dizziness got worse. “You’re a real Romeo you know that?”

His head turned slightly to face you. “Why Romeo?”

“I don’t know your first name,” you said, shrugging. “Therefore, I am calling you Romeo. Romeo Djarin has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Therefore,” he mumbled. “Sure sweetheart.” Another beat of silence hit and you were left to continue trying to force your way over to where he’d pointed.

You figured he must have taken mercy on you just standing there helpless and began to lead you towards the room. Definitely not a mile. Maybe half a mile, but then again you were bad at math, even sober. Through all your stumbling, your slurred apologies, and a hint of what happened to you in the last few months, he was finally able to sit you on the edge of the bed. You were reminded that this was the first time someone had taken care of you in a long time; the first time that you didn’t need to ask for help, but rather had it offered.

Maybe he had taken pity on you, and to be honest you wouldn’t blame him if he did. Some small part of you hoped for it, because then it would mean at least someone had, but you shoved that part away. Those were the thoughts you didn’t want to harbor anymore and yet they still somehow found their way back in. You moved to take your jacket off, but had trouble with raising your arms.

Fuck you felt like a helpless child and you could feel the frustration set in. You were tired of it all; of the difficulties.

He didn’t say anything as he helped you slip your arms out of the leather jacket, but he did let out another sound you guessed to be laughter when you got stuck. Other than that, there remained silence between the two of you, and you were surprised by how comfortable it felt.

“Your jacket’s too big for you,” he said holding it in his hands.

“I know.” You were mumbling out the words at this point.

“Where did you get it?” he asked.

You however had fallen onto your side on the bed, eyes fluttering shut. Everything all at once seemed to fall onto you, pressing onto your shoulders until you couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore. Yet as you lay there allowing sleep to wash over you, the pressure began to lighten until it was light enough to hold onto. The exhaustion would soon fade with time you hoped, just as the pain would.

He hung the jacket on the back of a chair as you settled into the mattress further. You didn’t see the way he stared at the leather item as if remembering things, he didn’t want to remember. His fingers trailing lightly over it, tracing the faded single letter on the front. The same letter of a name he didn’t wish to remember, but one that stuck to him forever. A memory that he couldn’t soon forget.

Letting out a sigh you stirred lightly in your sleep, pulling him away from your jacket and forgetting it. He ran a hand over his face before glancing at you and heading out to the couch, ignoring the jacket.

Ignoring the faded letter M that still haunted him to this day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Fun right? Wrong. You had a hangover that wouldn’t fade, a man who’s name you didn’t know, and the feeling that you were in for a lot more than you expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I'm putting up chapter two faster than I thought I would, but I figured why not. 
> 
> Warnings: not explicit yet, but we’re getting there. cussing, mentions of loneliness, mentions of depression, alcohol consumption, 1980s Din comes with his own warning.

Searing pain spread through your forehead as you struggled to open your eyes. What the fuck did you drink last night? However, that went unanswered quickly, because all you were able to focus on was not losing the contents in your stomach. Shifting in the bed you were laying on you reached for anything to cover your eyes, but then it hit you. You were in a bed, in an apartment that wasn’t yours, and you couldn’t remember how you got there.

A streak of panic went through you and you patted your body to check for clothes, relieved to find what you were wearing the night before still plastered onto you. The jacket you wore was missing though. The shift of your movement nearly made you sprint towards whatever bathroom there was, but you held still. It would be a long morning indeed and you just hoped that you’d make it out of whoever’s bed this was. Whose bed _was_ this? You couldn’t recall much from entering the bar and asking the bartender-

Well fuck-

The memories were coming back to you now. You’d ended up in the bed of the bartender of all people. Sadly, you weren’t surprised by your behavior, but still you’d hoped there was a piece of you that had some sort of a moral compass. Apparently, the compass didn’t exist anymore; obliterated a long time ago.

Sitting up slowly, you groaned at the feeling of your stomach turning, and the pain still behind your eyes. Whatever you drank did a number on you. The hangover would last all day, that you were certain about, but before you could wallow in your pain, you focused on the other matter at hand. If this was the bartender’s apartment and his bed, where the hell did, _he_ go? The answer came when you heard footsteps nearing the bedroom door before it swung open.

“Good you’re awake,” he said. You were stunned yet again by his looks and voice, the rasp of it nearly sending you into an indulgent fantasy.

“I’m awake.” Moving until you were sitting on the edge of the bed, you felt the ache in your eyes spread to your forehead until you had to keep your eyes closed. Fuck you had forgotten how much you hated hangovers.

A glass of water was held in front of you and you took it gratefully. “Thanks.”

“You look like shit.” He took a seat in the chair across from you, almost as if he was waiting for you to drink the water. You sipped at it generously to appease him.

“Such a charmer.” You finished off the glass. “Want to tell me how I ended up in your bed?”

“You needed help; I had a bed.” His answers were clipped, short and forced you to pay attention. Not that you weren’t already hanging off his every word.

“I seem to remember asking you to call me a cab.” You set the glass on the nightstand so you didn’t drop it on accident. The habit of breaking things was a hard one to get rid of apparently, and it was one that you unfortunately had.

He huffed out a laugh. “You expected me to put a drunk woman in a cab with a stranger? Safer for you to hold a loaded gun.”

That hadn’t occurred to you. Sure, cab drivers were by far not the worst thing in this city, but who knows what happens when you’re drunk. He’d done this to help you out and you were grateful for it. Except right as you opened your mouth to say thank you, he stood up from the chair leaving you to sit there. So much for trying to be nice. He couldn’t wait a minute longer for you to give him your thanks, or even just saying you’d return the favor if it came up?

You needed a pain killer, a gallon of coffee, and some of the greasiest food you’d find in this bar. Three cures for a hangover instantly, in your case. Stumbling to your feet you clutched your stomach and willed yourself to not fall completely incapacitated _again_. You spotted your jacket hanging on the back of the chair he sat on, the faded M standing out more than before. He must have gone downstairs. The faint memory of him carrying you upstairs came to your mind and you felt the embarrassment wash over you.

He had carried you up the stairs. You felt mortified. More mortified than the time you were in high school and asked the guy you liked to prom, only to have him say no and go with your so-called best friend. No this was probably worse. Him carrying you up the stairs, because you were so shitfaced you could barely stand on your own. You definitely don’t blame him for letting you crash in his bed for the night. Even you would have done the same for someone as drunk out of their mind as you were.

Shoving your arms in the jacket you wobbled down the stairs, gripping the railing tightly and focusing your vision. Definitely the worst hangover you’d had in a long time. The smell of food filtered through the air catching your attention, but then there were the sounds of music filling the bar. He was blasting a rock song this early in the morning?

He stood behind the bar counting bottles while you stood off to the side wondering if you should leave or stay. After all he did help you, so maybe you could offer him help in return. Your eyes shifted from him to the rest of the bar, the sight of the old chairs and tables making you realize something. This place was beat up, run down, and in generous need of someone willing to put care into it. Something told you he didn’t bother with it, keeping it relatively clean and calling it a day.

“Do you need help?” you asked.

His head turned to you, eyes analyzing your figure standing there even though you were sure you looked horrific. The makeup you had on the night before no doubt made its way to the rest of your face and your clothes were in disarray. He nodded his head towards the extra rag on the bar and you slipped off your jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair before picking it up. The hangover seemed to have its own beat in your head, forcing you to wince every few minutes, but you didn’t bother with it. The pain would go away soon enough.

What had he wanted you to wipe down? You weren’t exactly sure, so you chose to focus on the tops of the tables. Maybe just maybe if you scrubbed hard enough, they would lose the layers of dirt and grime on them. Of course, this was all embedded into the wood over the years, and you wondered why he never bothered to have them redone. Again, the realization from earlier came to you. He didn’t need it to be precise because that didn’t seem to be who he was.

You could hear him shift behind the bar, bringing in new stock and placing it in its spot before doing it again. All the while you continued to clean the tables until they were as close to being perfectly clean as they could be. Every once and awhile you glanced back at him, watched him work through his routine, something that seemed so natural to him. He moved differently, where some men made noise when they moved, he was silent, almost predatory at times, but there was something else about it. Something you couldn’t place no matter how long you studied him.

Perhaps it would take hours upon hours to figure him out, or perhaps you’d never know what made him tick at all. A mystery that would remain just that.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said out of the blue. You dropped the rag you were holding and let out a curse as you grabbed it.

“I wasn’t- Okay I was, but I didn’t mean to.” How is it that in the span of less than twenty-four hours you’d managed to make a fool of yourself in front of him not once but multiple times?

He turned towards you setting two glasses on the bar, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Come here.”

Your feet moved on their own accord, following his order right away. Even you couldn’t deny the effect his words had on your body. He poured into the glasses and pushed one your way, grabbing his own. You lightly took the glass off the bar, watching as he tipped his head back and downed his share. The memories of you admiring his neck the night before came back and suddenly you found yourself staring at the skin of his neck. You shouldn’t feel attracted to him. He’d helped you out because it was nice, but then he called it a day and so should you.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie you downed your shot as easy as if it were water and placed it back on the bar only to meet his stare. Brown eyes that seemed to burn into you, melting any resistance you had against him, reading whatever he found appealing about you. You were trapped, unable to move from his gaze. And yet, you didn’t want to move, didn’t want him to stop watching you.

“Better?” he asked. “I learned the hard way that alcohol for a hangover helps. Hair of the dog.”

This was the most he’d spoken to you all morning. “Yeah, it helped. Thanks.”

He nodded as a response, something you noticed he did often, before turning back to his inventory. He helped when he felt he needed to, but rarely offered it and you don’t know why but that stuck out to you. There would always be something new about him that people learned, because he kept himself so closed off. He barred himself from the rest of the world. Why that was you didn’t know, but it wasn’t your place to pry.

The alcohol helped to stave off the hangover for a bit until you were able to find something to push it away fully. For now, you stuck with cleaning what you could, focusing on the bar instead of the tables you’d already done. The music continued to play, echoing around the empty place, and filling the silence that stayed between you two. Normally the silence would have felt awkward; something you would have done anything to get rid of, but like last night, it remained calm and peaceful. No words needed to be said to entertain one another, just simple actions that were enough.

The sunlight helped to light the bar and give illumination on things you’d missed when you first walked in. Pictures were hung up on one wall, several of them in black and white. The jukebox didn’t look as damaged as you thought it did; a relic that seemed to have been taken care of through the years. But your eyes landed on the saying carved into one of the frames in a language you didn’t know. You recognized it though and finally realized it was on the ring he wore, the words unknown to you, but still beautiful.

“What does that say?” you asked, expecting him to be behind the bar.

He wasn’t.

You found yourself standing alone and couldn’t hear him moving around even if you tried. Maybe he’d gone upstairs to get something, or stepped out for a few minutes. Either way you decided to make yourself comfortable at the bar and wait. You were sure he would return soon and didn’t want to leave without locking up his bar behind you.

He wouldn’t mind if you made food in his kitchen, would he? Or if you poured yourself another drink? But you opted for going in search of a broom to sweep whatever was on the floor instead. There would be nothing else to do, so why not help him out more since he did the same for you. Small things you picked up on told you who this man was, told you what he might be like and while you weren’t one for reading people, you found you wanted to do it with him. What made him tick, what made him smile? Those were things you found yourself wanting to know.

The song shifted to a much lighter tone, one that you could recognize as Prince. The headache was pushed away as much as possible while you swept around the tables and even behind the bar. You had to admit, his music taste was something that helped you figure him out. Or perhaps this wasn’t his music and in fact just songs he randomly chose. That might be an option. Which left you back to square one.

Your mood began to lift slightly the more you continued your little game of _let’s figure out the bartender_. It became your entertainment for the time you were alone. Well, that and the dancing you were doing, hoping to get rid of your hangover through what little exercise you did. The hangover didn’t fade and you had to say you weren't surprised in the slightest. They never fucking went away entirely. For that to happen you’d have to be dead and you were sure that you weren’t. As far as you knew.

What was he really like though? Other than the brooding persona he gave to the rest of the world. Although he was rather good at that.

Yet another Prince song started and you got caught up in it; a familiar one that seemed to be the jolt of serotonin you were looking for. After playing your guessing game your thoughts trailed to the night before. How he had said one word that described the utter hell you were going through. You weren’t upset but more impressed with how easy it came to him; how well he could already see who you were. If only it were that simple the other way around.

Maybe if you knew his name-

_Shit_. You didn’t even get his name.

In a matter of seconds, you straightened up from whatever horrid dance move you were doing. You didn’t know his name. For _fucks_ sake you were standing in the center of his bar, helping him clean, and you didn’t even know his name. Then the memory of you calling him by another name hit you and you wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. It’s not like you could just ask him when he returned. Had he even told you last night?

A door slammed shut, shoving you out of your head and back into reality. Fantastic, the man who’s name you didn’t know had returned. Now what were you supposed to do? He entered from the back carrying a bag that smelled delicious. You picked up the scent of bacon and something else as he set it on the bar, shoving the keys to the place in his pocket.

So, he’d locked you inside.

“You’re back,” you said, trying to give him a smile.

He nodded before taking off his leather jacket and tossing it onto the bar near the bag of what you assumed to be food. Out of all the things you guessed he’d left for; food was not one of them. And you were pleasantly surprised.

“What’s in the bag?” You began to open it without asking figuring he wouldn’t mind. He in fact did not, and moved to look for something while you set the containers down.

“Breakfast.” He handed you a fork and a glass bottle of sugar.

“What’s the sugar-” The smell of coffee hit your nose and you nearly melted into the bar. He’d brought breakfast and coffee. Was he trying to win your heart or was he just a good guesser?

You smiled opening the container. “How did you know I love pancakes?”

He shrugged, shoving a piece of food in his mouth instead of answering. You wondered why he didn’t like to talk. Why he just chose to stay silent. He seemed to enjoy other people talking rather than putting in the effort himself, which only made you want to hear him speak more.

You ate together in silence, the music now having switched to something softer, lighter than earlier. It added to the comfort you already surprisingly felt around him. His eyes would flicker to you every now and then, sometimes doing things without you even asking him to. He’d already grabbed you a napkin without saying anything and passed you the cream to add to your coffee. Small motions as if you’d spent years around one another.

He drank his coffee black.

Another small note about him that you made to yourself. Black coffee, didn’t talk, and helped without being asked to. He was by far the _most_ interesting bartender you had ever met.

“Thank you for the food,” you said. He moved to grab your container, but you snatched it away before he did, taking his as well. “You know... you don’t have to do everything.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Well fuck, had you pissed him off finally? Was he going to shove you outside saying never to come back? You awaited his answer, feeling the nerves run through you.

“If I don’t do it, then who will.”

You didn’t know what to say.

That was the most honest answer he’d given you and you were stuck for words. Why had he said it to begin with? But then you realized. His voice sounded defeated, tired, almost as if he’d been thinking it his whole life but just now said it out loud. He did things, because no one had offered to do them for him. And you finally understood why he let you sleep in his apartment, why he helped you instead of pushing you off.

“Well, I can do this for you,” you said, holding up the containers with a smile. “I’ll have you know Romeo Djarin, I’m an _expert_ at taking out the trash. Excel in it. If there was an award for taking out the trash in school, I would have won it.”

His lips tilted up in the small smile you recognized from last night. You could feel yourself watching it happen, but there was no way to stop it from happening. If only he would smile fully. You wondered what it would look like. What would make him smile that way?

“An expert huh?”

You nodded. “Oh yeah. I practically got a degree in it.”

His lips curved into a grin.

“Good to know sweetheart.” He shook his head as he stood up, taking what you used to eat back up to his apartment.

_Sweetheart_. You felt the warmth fill your veins at that name, at how he said it. Fuck he only needed to call you that and you already knew he’d have you tied around his finger. What the fuck was _wrong_ with you? One night of being cared for and you were suddenly putty in this man’s hand? Shaking your head, you tossed the trash into the bin and turned back to the bar.

He came back in and you were still standing where he left you, lost in thought yet again. You tended to do that a lot. The sounds of him setting a bottle down on the bar brought you back, seeing his eyes trained on you. The time on the old clock he owned told you that nearly half the day was gone and if you weren’t careful, you’d be spending another night there. That couldn’t happen. You had to let your friend know you were in fact alive.

Clearing your throat, you reached for your jacket. “I should get home.”

You could feel him follow your movements, could feel his stare burning into you. This wasn’t good. You were getting attached to this place, to the comfort of it and that needed to stop. He nodded slowly putting the bottle back where he’d brought it out from.

The bottle he brought out so you could share...

How were you able to go from trying to be nice to being a complete bitch in a matter of seconds?

“My friend she’s probably worried about me. I don’t want to make her stress.” Half the truth really. But you couldn’t tell him that you also needed to leave because you were getting too comfortable around him, and you were terrified that it had to end at some point. Oh no this was much better than actually admitting that.

“You need a lift?” he asked.

You shook your head. He had already done too much for you; asking for something else would bring upon the feeling of guilt you didn’t wish to have.

“Thank you again for helping me.” You slipped the jacket back on, the oversized feeling giving you a feeling of warmth that you loved.

There were no words spoken expect the odd goodbye from him. He had gone back into the mode one goes into in order to cope with things. You knew it well. The man who was slowly on the precipice of becoming a friend had reverted back to being a bartender. A bartender saying goodbye to his customer.

“See you around... Romeo.” You waved at him as you left, the light hearted feeling you held all morning now fading with every step.

Thankfully a cab was out and about on the empty streets and you managed to grab it, telling the man where you were located. You expected your friend to have already called the police by now. She got anxious fast, but you hoped she just calmly waited for your return home. While she was with her fiancé for the night, you knew she wouldn’t have been gone this long from the apartment.

You were wrong.

Opening the door to the apartment you noticed how cold it felt, how _empty_ it was. She hadn’t come home, nor had she wondered where you were. You thought perhaps she had left a note, but there was no note to be found. Once again, you were alone, and you hated it. You wanted to strip yourself of the feeling, shove it out the window and hope it cured some of it. Even though you knew it wouldn’t.

The familiar ache you loathed began to set in. You pushed it aside opting for a shower and some cleaning to get your mind off of it all. Perhaps that would pull you away from the terrifying ordeal of loneliness that you dealt with every night in this fucking apartment. The reality that you would be here, waiting to heal, and realizing that it would take a lot longer than you anticipated.

“Fuck,” you sighed.

Your jacket was thrown onto the back of the couch, your clothes stripped off in random places of the apartment as you made your way to the shower. It helped. The hot water, washing away the grime of your hangover. By the end you felt a tiny bit better than before, but it still didn’t wash away the other parts. Those remained ingrained into you and you didn’t know how to get rid of them _yet_.

The process of life did help you ignore it, but even you knew the more you ignored it, the more you pushed it away, the harder it slammed its way back into you. You had changed into nothing but a t-shirt that was three sizes too big and sweatpants that you were sure weren’t yours. Who the hell cared; it was comfortable. Being wrapped up in warmth eased it and allowed for your mind to wander to other things.

While standing in your kitchen cooking something that looked like breakfast food, but sure wouldn’t taste like it, you thought back to Romeo. You figured it was only fitting you called him that instead of just by his last name. Djarin. What an odd last name indeed. Where did he come from to get that name? Maybe somewhere in Europe. You weren’t sure exactly, but the thoughts let you forget for a second that you were going through something else entirely.

He was an enigma to you, a puzzle you wanted to figure out, but that wasn’t all of it. He had become the first person you felt completely comfortable around in a long time. Maybe he just had that way about him that made him such a good bartender. Yet you knew it was something else.

He understood.

You hated to admit it, but you wanted to go back; wanted to sit in that comfortable silence with him. Because that was easier than the frigid silence you sat in now. The one that forced you to think about everything; forced you to focus on it. You wanted to escape from that and he’d allowed you to do so, even if just for a moment. Instead of allowing yourself to shove whatever clothes you found on your body you sat on the couch with a plate of what you hoped tasted like bacon and eggs.

The conclusion from earlier had come true. It tasted like shit. In fact, it tasted so bad you spit it out into a napkin, dumped the rest of the food, and went to get changed. You could grab some food and come back here wallowing in your sorrows. At least then you’d have something tasty to munch on and something to drink.

The jacket was donned again as you headed out the door, locking it on your way, and you felt another rush of that feeling you were looking for. Peace from the chaos in your mind.

“It’s the damn apartment,” you muttered to yourself on your way outside. A few people must have heard you because they turned, but you shrugged it off. This was New York, you were definitely not the strangest person here.

The loud sounds of the city helped to drown out your mind, to shut it off for a few minutes. You figured that’s why you moved here. Your family always told you that you did better in chaos than you did in the calm, whereas you believed it was the opposite. Except maybe they were right. You thrived off the chaos in this city, off of the feeling it gave you.

After all it was 1985, the middle of the decade and you were in the center of what was the best city in your opinion.

You were able to get some take out in a restaurant you loved. They sold the best burgers you had ever tasted, and you would be getting your same order. This was your routine you supposed. Getting food and spending time with the city, enjoying it as much as you could. You had spent the night before going out and partying until you nearly dropped, so tonight was spent stepping away from all of that. Tonight, was reserved for the calm before yet another storm.

“Back again already Y/N?” Peter asked. He was owner of the old joint after his father passed away and you had become fast friends with him. After one night of drinking you under the table, helping you home, and then eating everything in your fridge, you found yourself always ready to call him if you needed a friend.

“What can I say, I love you too much Pete.”

He scoffed. “You just love the way I make burgers.”

“And the fact that you are possibly the sweetest man alive.” Were you being a tad dramatic? Yes. But he deserved it in your mind.

“Now you’re just kissing my ass. I’ve got your burger ready.” He pointed towards the bag on the counter.

“How did you-”

“It’s Saturday. You always come get a burger on Saturday nights.” Again, he pointed at the bag, waiting until you grabbed for it. You shoved the five-dollar bill in his hands refusing his continuous comment of, _it’s on the house_. He would try and convince you that he was right until he was blue in the face and you didn’t mind it.

You got ready to sit down and eat at a table, but then another one of those pesky thoughts came to your mind. You’d like to bring Romeo here one day. Who the hell were you kidding? He spent barely twenty-four hours with you and only gave you enough chatting to keep you awake and alive. But you couldn’t get rid of the thought; couldn’t shove it down as much as you wanted. It led you to turning back to Peter.

“Can you make another one of those burgers for me?”

His eyebrow raised. “Should I know why you have an appetite of a lioness suddenly?”

You shrugged. “I’ve got someone I know who might like your burgers. After all they are the best burgers-”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make you another one if you keep quiet.” He rolled his eyes muttering to himself as he got up, but you saw the curve of his lips, tilting up into a small smile he tried to hide. Peter was a softie at his core.

Fifteen minutes later you were carrying a bag with two burgers, fries, and each kind of sauce Peter had in his restaurant. You were able to hail another cab and jump into it before another person came along and took it from you. Only to realize you didn’t know the address of his bar. You had left without looking at it and you were too drunk the night before to catch even a hint of it. Meeting the cab driver’s eyes you began to ask him if he’d ever heard of a place called The Crest.

You nearly hugged him when he said he’d been there before.

“What did you think of it when you went?” you asked.

He seemed surprised you actually wanted to talk to him. “It was a good place. Shitty beer though.”

You tried not to laugh at the image of Romeo glaring at the cab driver in your head. “The whiskey there is pretty good.”

“I’m not much one for whiskey.” He took a right and you began to recognize the area. “I do remember there being some bikers there that night. My girlfriend didn’t like that.”

The conversation flowed nicely between the two of you, giving you a chance to figure out what exactly you were going to do when you got there. How would he react exactly? Maybe he’d treat you as just another customer. The random chick he helped that one time, but couldn’t for the life of him remember her name. You gripped the food bag tighter as the cab stopped right outside.

A sign that looked as old and worn down as the one inside held the name The Crest and you smiled slightly. He didn’t like to make things look brand new... all the time. You handed over the cash needed and got out of the cab with a thanks thrown over your shoulder. This was it. After tonight you’d either gain a new friend, or you’d be forever known as the woman who got too attached, too soon.

Just as the night before the sounds of chatter, music, and the odd shout filled the bar. Cigarette smoke hit your nose, but this time you didn’t mind it much, because you knew it faded after people left. Your eyes glanced over the tables, noticing the man Paz from yesterday. He laughed along with a few other men, a woman hanging off his arm and joining in on the conversation.

You could walk out right now. Walk out and never come back, but something held you there. And it just so happened to be Romeo himself. Your eyes caught his already locked onto your figure as you stood by the door, and you raised a hand in greeting before letting it drop at your side. Why were you there again?

He kept his eyes on you when you maneuvered your way past the tables until you came to stand across from him in the same spot as that morning. He didn’t say anything, but you did notice him raise a single eyebrow in question. Almost as if to ask the same question you were asking yourself. You could say with absolutely certainty. There was no answer.

“You just couldn’t stay away.” He was teasing you. Maybe he was a little happy to see you after all.

“How can I stay away from you Romeo? You’re just so fun.”

He rolled his eyes a bit and you found it to be the cutest thing a man had ever done. “Sure sweetheart. Are you here for the whiskey?”

“Actually, I’m here for you.” You froze at how that sounded, hoping he didn’t pick up on it, but of course he did. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. You caught the way his eyes lit up at what you said.

“Yeah?” His eyes held a dangerous glint to them, making you shift where you stood. “What did you want to do with me?”

You caught the double connotation faster than could blink. Was it getting hot in there? Or was it the way that his eyes continued to watch you as if you were prey, forcing you to remain there and under his gaze. The words wouldn’t come, but you tried to force something out. Anything rather than being tongue tied, trying to get over what he just said to you.

He seemed to get that you weren’t going to say anything so switched to the now forgotten bag of food in your hand. “What’s in there?”

Right the food.

“I brought over a thank you. For everything you did.” You set the beg on the bar between the two of you without taking out the food. Was it an offering of more than just a thank you? Perhaps. But you didn’t want to admit that, let alone tell _him_ that.

He watched it for a minute almost as if expecting something to jump out, but soon opened it and pulled out the contents.

“You brought burgers?”

“Not just any burgers Romeo. The best burgers in New York City.” He had yet to taste the finest art that Peter made and you were there to watch him become a changed man because of it.

The night it seemed was full of surprises, because he went from eyeing the food warily to breaking out into a smile. A _smile_. Romeo was actually smiling at you and you had never seen something so beautiful. Fuck it was like watching the clouds part to allow the sunlight to filter through. No wonder he didn’t smile very often, he could kill people with it. Yes, that was a tad overdramatic, but after only seeing a small tilt of his lips you felt overwhelmed at finally being granted with a smile.

“I don’t know if these are the best burgers.”

Your eyes narrowed. “How would you know if you haven’t tried them yet? For all you know I could be lying to you and they taste horrible. Or they are in fact the best and you have yet to find out.”

The smile didn’t fade. If anything, it grew, the light of it reaching his eyes as he glanced between you and the burgers.

“I like those odds sweetheart.” He picked up the burgers and put them back into the bag before handing them to you.

“So, you don’t want the food?”

He nodded his head towards the stairs. “Go upstairs. I can get someone to take care of the bar.”

He gave you no room to respond, already moving towards the table of men that seemed to be regulars in the place. One of them might work there for all you knew. You began walking towards the side door that opened to the stairs, your nerves jumping around in your body. It wasn’t like this was a date of any kind, just two people enjoying a meal together. How is it that you were able to go on hook ups with no fear but now you were ready to run out of the bar.

Alcohol had been the big factor during those times. But you didn’t feel the temptation to drink anything tonight; not after last night.

His apartment looked relatively cleaner than that morning. You couldn’t remember much about his place through you hangover so it was like you were seeing it for the first time again. His kitchen was small, a stove, a small fridge, and barely enough room for a table to be wedged into there. Why he chose such a small place to live when he most likely made quite a bit of money with the bar, didn’t make sense.

You sat at the relatively tiny table and began pulling out the food that had gone a bit cold already. Hopefully he didn’t mind cold fries. The door opened making you jump slightly. He really made no noise when he moved; his footsteps light and unnoticeable. You were sure that even if you listened for him, you still wouldn’t hear him coming your way.

“I don’t know how you do that.”

He tilted his head, a look of confusion on his usually stoic face. “Do what?”

“Move so silently. I swear it’s like you’re hunting when you walk.” You let out a laugh as you spoke, not seeming to notice the way his shoulders tensed when you said it. Not realizing that you’d hit the mark perfectly.

“A skill I guess.”

He joined you at the table, while rolling his sleeves up and you couldn’t help the way your eyes trailed up his bare forearms. You had noticed earlier he liked to stay covered up, that he always either had long sleeves or a jacket on. Something black peeked out from where the sleeve stopped. Did he have tattoos? You wouldn’t have been surprised. After all he did own a bar that kept bikers for company, but the thought of him having tattoos made heat curl at the base of your spine.

His rings glinted in the yellowed kitchen light when he reached for a burger, as well as the necklace he wore with a weird skull. You meant to ask him about that earlier but forgot. As well as the language he seemed to know, but you couldn’t recognize.

“A skill?” You opened the wrapper trying not to stare at his arms. “Tell me Romeo do you _actually_ kill people?”

Another tense pause that you were too stupid to notice. He’d gone quiet, but you figured that it was just him not wanting to talk. Not that you were reading him better than anyone had in years; not that you were asking him about a past he didn’t want to bring up. Meeting his gaze when things got a little too silent for your liking, he just shrugged, chewing on the bite of food he’d taken. Silence enveloped you two and you didn’t mind it.

In fact, you liked it. This is what you wanted. To be in the company of someone, and feel at ease with your surroundings.

“Thank you.” He said it softly, almost as if he was afraid to say it, the hesitant way he looked at you showing the nerves he wished to conceal.

Now it was your turn to smile. “It was nothing. What’s your verdict of the burgers?”

He glanced down at the now empty wrapper and nodded. “Good, but not the best I’ve had. There’s a place upstate that has better burgers.”

“See now that’s impossible. I’ve never heard of this place upstate and I would know, I eat burgers on the regular.”

“It’s pretty unknown.”

“I’d like to see it one day. What’s the address?”

“I can take you.” He paused leaning back in the chair. “If you want.”

You could feel the heat rush to your face as you sat there watching him laze in the chair, looking completely relaxed with himself. He took up a lot of space when he wanted to, but something told you he did that on purpose.

“Sure,” you replied, trying not to smile like an idiot.

You weren’t sure if he was flirting or just making conversation half the time, but it gave you a thrill either way. Just speaking to him brought out a side of fun you hadn’t felt in a while. Not the fun one got from parties, or from going out, but the fun you got from just being yourself, from getting to know someone for the first time. The feeling of being able to live and breathe with no real care as to where you’d end up.

“I have to get back before they burn down my bar.” He stood grabbing the bag and tossing it into the trash, tossing you a napkin as he headed towards the door.

He didn’t bother to close the door when he left and you could hear the sounds of music playing, the laughter of people combining with it. He must be used to the sounds, even if he came up here to take a small break now and then; drowning them out until they just became white noise. You could understand the appeal to it.

Heading out to the bar you saw him immediately get back into work, pouring drinks and taking orders as fast as he could. How one person ran it all, did all of it on his own astounded you, but then you realized he didn’t have to. He just never asked. You knew how that felt better than anyone. To want to ask, but feeling like you were doing something wrong because of it; to feel like you could carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Because you had to. _Alright_ if he needed help, you’d offer, because really what else did you have to do? It would be a nice distraction from what you called _life_.

You didn’t say anything, just grabbed a towel, threw it over your shoulder and stepped behind the bar. His eyes glanced your way and you swore you saw him freeze in his movements for a second, but he quickly recovered. The realization played in your mind. Nobody _chose_ to help him very often. He passed you the bottle of whiskey and two empty glasses pointing towards the table on the far right without any words.

He’d accept help when offered and that was all you needed to know.

“What can I get you?” you asked a couple who sat at the bar when you returned.

“Vodka martini, and a scotch on the rocks.”

You nodded, grabbing the bottle of scotch and vodka. The tiny bit of experience you had working at the college bar, when you were going there helped in this situation. The drinks were made, set in front of the couple, and you turned to Romeo to see what else he needed help with. Only to have a bag of trash handed to you, a small smirk on his face.

“Am I taking it out back?” you asked. Sure, trash duty wasn’t the best job to have, but that didn’t seem to be your only part of helping.

“Show me what you got, expert.”

You caught another flash of his smile that you were growing to love before he turned around, back to the customer waiting for him. He liked to tease you. That you were one thousand percent sure of, and you added it to the small but growing list of things you found out about him. His name of course still remained as the top one. It surprised you how you could go nearly a day and half of being around him, of spending time with him, and you still didn’t know him by other than the name you’d given him.

Perhaps one day he’d tell you it. You just wondered how long until that day came.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is it about a game that sounds so utterly tempting? Is it the offer or is it the end result? Either way it ends up with one of you breaking, but it seems that there’s more to this than you originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have chapter four done as well, but I'll wait a bit to post that one. Because after that it'll take me a few days to finish writing chapter five. This story is also posted on my Tumblr.
> 
> Warnings: semi-explicit, male masturbation, slight voyeurism, cussing, tw alcohol consumption, Din being a little shit.

Life always had a way of shifting the tides, forcing you to end up on a different path than the one you had chosen to take. Why it happened? You wouldn’t be able to explain it. Seeing as how you could barely understand it yourself; you chose to just go with the tide rather than fight against it. Because you had tried to fight against it for so long, had put up the best fucking fight you could, and it had left you drowning. Falling so deep into a dark pit that you were left to wonder, was this it? Was this all you had to your name, to your life, to your time on this damn planet?

The answers you wanted never came immediately. All of it becoming a big waiting game, of is this going to be yes or no. But eventually you’d wake up one day, find yourself in a situation you never planned, and realize the answer was there. It had been staring you right in the face for quite some time.

Maybe walking into that bar, _his_ bar, had been your answer. You just had yet to wake up and realize it yet.

\------

The cab drove down the street as you shuffled through your bag to make sure you brought everything. You got home late last night, but once you entered the apartment you didn’t feel the despair that haunted you like a ghost. The weight that it held on you, seemed to have lifted a bit. You guessed the fact that you had someplace to be, something to do, it all had an affect on it. But you’d take helping Romeo out with his bar rather than remaining at home, dealing with the aftermath of life pulling another fast one on you.

You had called him earlier, his morning voice affecting you more than it should have, telling him to leave the door open. The last job you had went down in flames, so you couldn’t push this one to side. He wanted to _hire_ you without hiring you, then you’d be the best damn worker he had.

Even in the morning the bar looked relatively dark inside. Sure, the sunlight spilled through a few windows, but it still remained dreary; a place you wouldn’t want to live in. You figured Romeo didn’t mind the darkness and so you continued about your way, figuring you could open the windows later if you needed to.

The purse you brought was thrown onto the bar along with your leather jacket, as you got to work immediately. It looked like it would just be you to take care of what needed to be done anyways. Having not worked in a bar for quite some time you tried to pick up the old habits you had when going in. Wiping down the bar, cleaning out the glasses, stocking the shelves, and making sure the place was ready for when the crowds came in.

You were able to finagle the jukebox into working for you; the sounds of some rock song from the seventies playing loudly, and no doubt waking him up. For someone who owned a business he sure slept in late, but you tried not to wonder about it. Last night had been enough for you to make up your mind. You couldn’t fall for the bartender of this run-down place. Not only would it be completely unprofessional of you, but it would go against your rule before even meeting him.

No more men.

It didn’t matter how stunning he looked wiping down the bar, or how his brown eyes told you more than his mouth did. Or even how he seemed to care more than he let on-

Well fuck, you not focusing on him was going great already. Did you find him insanely attractive? Yes. Were you going to do anything about it? Absolutely not. You had to stop your wondering about him, stop thinking about him in ways other than just as the man who owned this place. Technically he was your boss, so to get into a relationship would be messy, and it wouldn’t end well, because you knew your track record with men.

Out of all the things you restricted yourself from, you found it funny that the realization that he may not want you, didn’t come to you yet. For all you knew he could be with someone. He could have a whole other life away from just being a bartender and you forced yourself to believe that. Last night meant nothing beyond becoming good friends. That was it, because that was all it could be.

_No more men_. You were mumbling to yourself as you worked, wiping down another table as you went. Another messy situation is not what you needed in life, and so, you forced yourself to become indifferent to how you felt. The music changed giving you a distraction from the thoughts that ran through your mind, and blocking out the rest of the world. Cleaning off the last table, you threw the rag onto the counter behind the bar, beginning to organize the bottles that were carried in last night.

You assumed that Romeo had done it after you left, preparing for you to come in the morning. This part of the routine you knew well enough. Whiskey went with whiskey, vodka with vodka and so on. The high-end stuff went on the top shelf which forced you to climb onto a chair to get to it. How the hell did he reach it himself. The shelf was higher than necessary, but you figured he just climbed onto the top of the bar counter if need be.

The music drowned out any sounds that you could have heard. Which is probably why you didn’t hear him get up, or walk downstairs. You wouldn’t have heard him anyways either way, because he moved so silently that it kept you on your toes. Which is the main reason you definitely didn’t hear him enter the bar, right as you pulled a dance move that would have rendered you as trying to attempt to be somewhat sexy.

Of course, you didn’t see him lean behind the bar, his eyes watching you dance as if you were the only one there. And you certainly didn’t catch the smile that flashed across his face for a few seconds. He crossed his arms, crossing one leg over the other and stood there, waiting for you to notice him as you continued to dance around his bar. Except you were lost in your own little world, moving to the music as you saw fit, and enjoying yourself, but then you spun around and met his gaze.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you realized he’d been standing there for who knows how long. The towel in your hand fell to the floor, your heart racing with the exertion of the dancing and the sight of him relaxed and watching. How long had he been standing there? And why hadn’t he said anything? You honestly expected him to chastise you on not doing your job, but instead you watched his eyebrows raise slightly, eyes glancing over your figure.

His hair was slightly damp and sticking up in places as if he’d just run his hands through it. Why the fuck was that all you could focus on? Not how embarrassing it was to be caught dancing in his bar, not how he may never let you live this down. But how you wanted to run your hands through his hair, use it to tug him closer as you bit down-

_No_. You couldn’t keep reverting back to thinking about those things. Sure, it would drive you absolutely insane to be around him, but with the impassive look he held on his face, you were one hundred percent certain that he didn’t like you. Friends and nothing more is all he would give you, and you had to be okay with that. The staring contest between the two of you continued. He made no move to leave, nothing to incite that he was going to be giving you a chance to explain yourself, instead continuing to watch you. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he was thinking about something, but he shook his head, huffing out a laugh.

“Nice moves sweetheart,” he said, reaching for the wooden box of liquor bottles.

You shuffled over, picking up the towel on your way over to him. “I can explain.”

“Explain what?” He didn’t bother to look at you, stacking the bottles instead. “You were having a little fun. Do you need to explain that?”

“Well, no I just-”

“Then you’re fine.” He set the empty box in-between you on the bar. “Don’t dance like that when people are here though.”

"Got a problem with my dancing Romeo?” you asked, trying to tease him in some way. This is what friends did right? They teased each other to get the other to smile, but in your case, he didn’t smile. He narrowed his eyes, leaning his forearms on the bar.

“No, I have a problem with the guys here who will think you are open for business.” His words shut you up instantly, but as you were thinking of a retaliation, he was rounding the bar, wooden box in hand. “Best to not give them the idea that you belong to them. Not when we both know that’s not true.”

He handed you the box, tapping a few fingers under your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “Right?” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower.

“Right,” you whispered back even before you realized what you were saying.

Something flashed in his eyes, perhaps it was akin to satisfaction, but you were too dazed to tell right away. Your mind was reeling with the few words he just said and for someone who rarely spoke, he sure knew exactly what to say to make you go crazy. He left you standing there watching as he disappeared into the back room, probably to go get another box. But what were you supposed to do after that? You could barely wrap your head around the words.

_Not when we both know that’s not true_. What did he mean by that? He was fucking with you. Romeo Djarin was clearly doing everything in his power to make you melt at his feet just for shits and giggles and you wouldn’t allow him to get that far. You didn’t have time for this, not when the bar would be opening soon. All you really needed was a stiff drink to help shove the conflicting emotions that were going through you away. He wanted to play? Fine you’d let him play his little game. Sooner or later, he’d give it up.

And if what he said held a sliver of the truth, then you’d allow him to keep his game going. Until he eventually snapped, and you wondered what would happen then.

“Bar’s opening soon,” he called out, exiting the inventory room. “I need you to help with making drinks tonight.”

“You should hire someone to help.” You took the bottles out of the box, setting them on the bar and ignoring the look he gave you.

“I thought that’s what you were here for.”

You smiled. “I’m flattered Romeo, but I can’t make drinks as well as you can. Yes, I’m here to help, but maybe you want someone who can help more with the drinks. I can serve the customers.”

He let out a snort, setting what you put on the bar gently in place. “Let me guess, by dancing for them?”

The towel hit him in the face when he turned around, causing you to laugh. “You’re an asshole, you know that.”

Tossing it back onto the bar, he shook his head, not answering your comment. But you saw the smile that graced his lips, the skin around eyes crinkling. It was something about the way he smiled that made you know you were fucked. A man who only smiled around you, but not others; it brought out the nerves, made your heart beat a little faster. Deny it all you want, shove the thoughts of him out of your mind, force yourself to claim you didn’t want him, but even you knew they were all meaningless words.

Things you told to yourself to keep your heart safe. To keep you from falling for yet another man.

“Your dancing isn’t bad,” he said after a moment.

“Oh yeah then what is it that would turn away customers?” You joined him behind the bar, helping with placing bottles.

“Your music tastes.” He shifted out of the way, expecting you to chuck the towel at him this time.

“I don’t have bad taste in music.” He didn’t respond, opting to hand you the last two bottles of a whiskey brand you’d never heard of. Apparently, he ordered odd names of liquor, and you wondered if he’d ever even tried them. The idea of convincing him to play a drinking game with you came to mind, but it vanished once you realized who exactly you were going to have to convince.

He shrugged. “You listen to disco. The seventies ended a few years ago.”

“Says the man who listens to generic rock music.”

“Generic?” he asked, turning his gaze on you. “I can bet you that the music I listen to will be around a lot longer than yours.”

“Fifty bucks says you’re wrong.”

He nodded pulling his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans. “It’s a long bet to keep. Sure, you’re up for it?”

Out of all the times he said things with double meanings, this one you caught right away. This wasn’t him asking you to just place a bet, this was him asking you to wait around for it to finish. A bet that could take five years, ten years, twenty years. All to see whose music stuck around longer, who’s music taste was going to make the most history.

This was him asking if you’d stay.

So, you turned to your jacket that was thrown on the bar, digging out your own wallet and pulling out a bill that amounted to fifty dollars. Facing him you slid them across the counter in his direction just as he slid his. In the center there was a whiskey bottle, the same brand you loved, the same one he poured for you when you first met. The symbolism of it wasn’t lost on you. Ironic in a way; him choosing that to tie the bet, to tie you two together. You watched him dig a rubber band out from the bottom of the box and tie the bills around the neck of the bottle, securing them.

“We’ll open it when the bet is over,” he said, storing the bottle underneath the bar on a shelf in the back.

“How will we know when it’s over? It could take decades.” You were joking, but really you wanted to see his reaction at your words. He didn’t disappoint, his eyes flashing to you quickly before back to where the bottle was stored.

Lifting the empty boxes, you watched his lips form into a crooked grin before dropping back down. “We’ll know.”

\------

The noise of the bar mixed with the thrum of the music. As always you tuned it out, the sounds becoming a background noise you got used to, but tonight things seemed to be different. You were busier than normal and it was because Romeo decided to go through a black phone book, he kept rather than help to make drinks. Running left and right you felt more frazzled than ever, but tried not to let it show. Every now and then you caught him looking your way, his eyes asking if you were okay, if you needed help, and every time you shook your head.

A lie of course, but you wanted to prove something to him. Stupid you know. Proving that you could take care of the place without him helping even though he probably already knew that you were overwhelmed.

Half an hour later is when he decided to stop searching through the book and actually help. He threw a towel over his shoulder, pulled up the sleeves on his Henley and got to work on pouring drinks. The bottle became another extension of his hand, pouring so smoothly into six shot glasses without spilling a drop. To say you were impressed would mean you had to admit you were watching his hands the entire time. His rings glinting in the low light of the bar as he did his job better than even you could.

You however would end up spilling more vodka on the bar than into the shot glasses. He probably gained the skill after years and years of doing it, but still you found it attractive. Great your first night of officially working here and you already had a competency kink for your boss. You needed to pull yourself together before you broke the bottle you were holding...again.

“Staring will get you nowhere sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear before carrying the shot glasses, three in each hand over to the table that ordered them.

The rush of heat that flooded your face and body made you slightly dizzy. There wasn’t a single thing you did that went unnoticed by him, and it not only made the nerves grow around him, but also made you want to get him back for teasing you. This was dangerous territory. Playing a game with the man who seemed to be the expert at it in every aspect. But you wanted to do this. Wanted to watch him be the one to be speechless, to be the one who didn’t know how to act around you.

Probably a bad idea to unbutton the first three buttons on your top, but it was the best you had at this time. He came back around, wiping his hands on the towel before throwing it back over his shoulder and you pretended not to notice how he stopped for a second. His eyes shooting down to your now exposed cleavage. It was only for a second before he was back to his work, but you felt the pride at being able to catch him off guard fill you.

You’d count that as a win in your book. The score happened to be the most uneven thing to exist, but you would catch up in time.

**Romeo – 5**

**You – 1**

\------

Cleaning yet again. The crowd left for the night, leaving the odd person here and there finishing up their drinks as Romeo shouted for last call. You however were downing one shot of your favorite whiskey in order to keep going for another hour. Cleaning was probably in your opinion, the worst part of the night, but per his orders, the bar wouldn’t be left empty until it was clean enough for the next day. So, you downed the shot and hoped that the energy would continue to run through your body.

He helped with cleaning out empty bottles and wiping down the bar while you went to the tables and gathered the empty glasses. The black book from earlier sat open on the bar as he continued to go through it, flipping page after page until he’d pull a pen out of his pocket and circle something you assumed were names. You didn’t expect Romeo to own a black book, but you figured every guy had one. Names of women they knew from the past.

“Find one yet?” you asked.

His head raised, pen still on the paper as he circled one last name before shutting the book. “Find what?”

“A girl.” Stupid, absolutely stupid. You were slapping yourself in the face mentally at what you just said, but even you couldn’t stop the words that just seemed to fly out of your mouth. Jealousy maybe? At this point even you couldn’t tell.

He leaned against his forearms, a move he liked to pull in order to get your full attention, you noticed. “What’s the matter sweetheart?”

What was the matter? You had no answer. This behavior of yours was coming straight out of left field, hurling right towards your face to knock you out. So, what if he was looking for a girl. So, what if you weren’t the one, he wanted. Except what he said earlier, about you not belonging to the men at this bar replayed in your mind. Maybe you’d misread him after all, taking what he said to mean something else entirely.

“Nothing.” Another lie. You were lying more than you ever had to and all for what? To save your ass from getting hurt again? You swore off men so why were you even indulging in this fantasy of you and him. One, which you might add, would never happen in a million years.

“Really?” He twirled the pen in his hand. “You’re not jealous?”

Bingo. Smack dab in the face is where he delivered his fatal blow. He had you. Knew your thoughts even before you did, and he did all in one word. Him and being able to read you with just one damn word would never be something you were used to, but nevertheless it happened anyways.

“What would I have to be jealous about?” You set the tray of empty glasses on the bar, ignoring the way he continued to stare at you, his analyzing eyes making you squirm.

Eventually he gave you mercy at the way you secretly stewed over the fact that he was looking for another girl.

“I was calling people who might be good to hire here.”

Had a bucket of cold water just been dunked over your head or did you hear him correctly? He was hiring someone else. Did you not do a good enough job? Shit he was probably already thinking of firing you and you couldn’t even figure out why. Did dropping the bottle of tequila earlier do it? Is that why he needed someone else?

“You’re not firing me, are you?” you blurted out.

He watched you for another minute before laughing. A real laugh. You were sure that you stopped breathing for a second after he didn’t answer your question right away, but this sent air rushing through your lungs.

“Always keeping me on my toes,” he said under his breath, his brown eyes shining with light. You tried not to swoon and knew you were failing...miserably...again.

“So, I’m not...being fired?” This man never failed to confuse the hell out of you.

He shook his head. “No, you’re not being fired. You said earlier you need someone to help you out when I can’t, so I called a friend of mine who might know someone looking for a job.”

He had actually listened to you earlier about needing help and was doing something about it. All in the same day. You weren’t sure if you were growing more aroused or grateful, but you opted for the latter. He probably took pity on you being overwhelmed earlier and you wouldn’t blame him. You could barely handle three customers at once, let alone a whole bar full of them.

“Did they find anyone?” you asked.

“They might have. Said someone showed up in New York two weeks ago, with bartender experience.”

“And?” You had to stop asking so many questions.

“I called him. Should be here next week for an interview.” He shoved the last of the empty bottles into a box from the inventory room.

You nodded, moving off to shut down the lights on the other end of the bar before washing your hands and heading out. The fact that he was bothering to help you still went through your mind. He listened to you and for some reason that made your heart swell.

“Oh, and sweetheart.” He dragged your attention back to him. “Don’t go falling in love with him.”

You laughed. “How can I when there’s a real-life Romeo here?”

He smiled before turning away from you and heading into the inventory room. The banter between you felt lighthearted and fun, but a small part of you wondered if there was different part to it. You couldn’t focus on that though, because you didn’t even know his first name yet, so how could you go around hoping for more.

\------

**One Week Later**

You opened the door to the bar, a bag of food in your hand and your bag in the other. It had become a routine for him to come downstairs and open the place before you arrived, always forgetting to make you another key for the doors. Today you decided to get some breakfast for the both of you, knowing that he didn’t eat before working. You noticed that he didn’t really eat at all, always busy and doing something. So, you’d force him to take a few minutes to sit down and enjoy a meal rather than scarfing it down.

Throwing your jacket and bag onto the bar as always, you headed upstairs where you could set up breakfast in his kitchen. Over the last week you had gone upstairs after cleaning to share a drink, or even eat some burgers from the place you went to regularly. It had become another small routine that you enjoyed having. You rarely went up there in the mornings, but you didn’t want to eat at the bar again. Not when he had a perfectly good table upstairs.

The sound of movement let you know that he was awake, so you let yourself in, not bothering to say anything. He knew you would be here, because he always caught everything you did. The bag was set on the table as you went searching for some plates, setting them onto the table and moved to grab forks, but you froze when you heard something come from his bedroom. You could hear the sounds of a shower going, but the other sound was different.

Did you mean to step closer to the door? No. But at the same time you wanted to know if he was okay and not waking up with a hangover. No wait, but he never drank enough to get a hangover the next day, so what was the sound coming from-

It happened again. You tried to tune it out, figuring it wasn’t something you should be hearing, but then it echoed loudly through the kitchen. What sounded like a punched-out groan followed by a bang on the wall.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Another groan hit your ears, the sound so sinful it had your thighs clamping together and heat rushing to your face. You shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be listening to this. Coming to your senses you shoved the box of food you pulled out back into the bag and got ready to bolt, but another sound stopped you. Him saying your name.

A cold sweat broke out on your skin, as your heart rate rose to an exponential point. You were hearing things. That was the only explanation to this situation you were in. Except then like a fucking trigger being pulled on a gun, it happened again, and you were shot. Your name, falling from his lips as he moaned from what you knew was his orgasm hitting him. The mental image of him standing in the shower, water falling on his back, as he thrusted into his hand nearly made you fall over, but you shoved it away.

You had to pretend you were never here, never heard him do _that_. Except you couldn’t move. The feeling of your wetness pooling in your underwear at the sound kept you from moving, all of it forced you to stay there. And it felt like a physical battle to get out of the place. Shutting the door as quietly as possible, you practically ran down the stairs, trying to come up with any solution as to what the fuck that was.

Only you knew what it was.

You’d just caught Romeo, the man who had begun to show up in your dreams, getting off to the thought of you. Somehow that sent a rush of power through you while also absolutely wrecking you at the same time. This proved he wanted you, but also proved that he would most likely never do anything about it.

“Get yourself together,” you nearly shouted as you entered the bar.

Setting the bag of food on the bar you rubbed your forehead trying to calm down as the heat continued to rush through your body. Of course, his sounds still echoed in your mind with every passing second. He somehow still managed to get to you even without having to be near you.

“Is everything okay?”

The voice made you jump out of your skin and you spun around letting out a yelp. Would you get even a second of time to calm your racing heart? You supposed not. Getting your senses back in order you focused on the man who stood in front of you, his dark hair mussed up slightly and the helmet in his hand. Another biker. What was it with you and running into bikers lately? Although you figured working in a _biker bar_ is what did it.

“Yes, I’m okay. Uh...and you are?”

He looked like he realized why he was there in the first place. Setting the helmet on the bar he dug around his back pocket before pulling out a neatly folded sheet of paper and handing it in your direction.

“I’m here for the bartender job. The owner called asking for someone with experience,” he replied.

So, this was the mystery man Romeo hadn’t told you about. He was cute. A beard grew on his chin, showing a few grey hairs which surprised you, because he didn’t look that old. A leather jacket adorned his figure over a black shirt and you noticed a silver necklace hung around his neck. Bikers sure loved to wear their jewelry, but you couldn’t complain. Not when the man who occupied your mind always wore a necklace and rings of his own.

Glancing down at the paper you skimmed over his previous jobs. At a garage in Florida as a mechanic, working at a bar in Washington for two years, and the odd side job here and there. He certainly had experience and you wondered what on earth brought him to New York of all places. You figured he was looking for a better job, one that brought in actual pay. Although you weren’t sure this place would do that for him.

“Your name is?” It didn’t seem to be on the paper.

“Right.” He stuck out his hand. “Poe Dameron.”

“Poe...Dameron.” You shook his hand. “Odd name. I like it.”

He smiled. “My parents were one for odd names.”

Setting the paper on the bar you searched for a pen to write a note to Romeo while you left Poe to look around. There was definitely enough experience on here to help out and you knew that he would be hired before the night ended. The sound of the door to the staircase opening let you know that the man himself had arrived and you tried not to focus on the way your body tensed, the memory of what happened upstairs rushing back to your mind. There was stuff to get done and that included showing the new guy the ropes.

“You brought breakfast,” he said, stepping closer to you before he stopped, his eyes falling to Poe who wandered around looking at the pictures. “Who’s that?”

“Poe Dameron, he’s here for the bartending job.” You slid the papers his way. “Hire him.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Telling me what to do already sweetheart?”

You scoffed. “I’m _advising_ you. There’s a difference. He’s got years of experience as a bartender so he knows what he’s doing.”

He read over Poe’s resume as you pulled out the breakfast for yourself. Secretly you were thankful that Poe had arrived today for his interview or else you’d have to stay in the bar with just you and Romeo. After what just happened you didn’t know if you’d be able to handle it. Your skin still buzzed with nerves at hearing what you did, and you hoped that he hadn’t heard you upstairs. A sneaking suspicion told you that he had in fact heard you, but you weren’t going to try and bring it up.

“I’ll go talk to him.” He grabbed half of your bagel, taking a bite out of it before you could protest.

“You have your own breakfast you know,” you said as he began to walk away, the bagel still in his mouth.

He had the audacity to actually wink at you in response, and you hated the way your body physically reacted to it.

You busied yourself with eating and bringing in the boxes of bottles while the two men sat at one of the tables talking. Every now and then you heard a laugh, mainly from Poe, but every once in awhile your ears would perk at the husky sound of Romeo’s laugh. You hadn’t heard it this much in all the time you knew him, and you wondered what exactly they were talking about.

It was an hour later that they both stood, shook hands, and Poe reached for his helmet still on the bar. He flashed you a smile that would have swept you off your feet before you knew the man who stood behind him, and left. The door shutting was like the final nail going into your coffin. You were alone with Romeo and you didn’t know how you could handle that. Not when you knew what he sounded like when he came.

He sat at the bar, reaching for his now cold pancakes, but eating them anyways as he watched you work. Again, you pretended not to notice the way his eyes burned into you. Meeting his gaze would mean that you would have to actually look at him and for some reason the only thing you could look at were his hands. The rings on full display as always and his sleeves pulled up.

Little details became of interest to you as the week went on. Like how he always left a bottle of your favorite whiskey open on the bar while you worked, or how he showed off his forearms more than the first few days, the small peek of tattoos nearly having your mouth watering. Small things that showed you he was maybe beginning to grow comfortable in your presence. Or at least that’s what you hoped was happening.

Something told you he knew you were watching his hands what with the way he continued to tap his fingers on the bar, but you brushed it off. Like you always did. He couldn’t know about you being upstairs earlier. You’d die of embarrassment if he actually knew. And then another thought came up to further torture you. What if he’d done it on purpose? Moaned your name, because he knew you were there the whole time.

No. He wouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have done that. Sure, he was intuitive but no one was _that_ intuitive.

“Did you hire him?” you asked, trying to get past the silence that filled the bar.

He hummed around his bite of food, making you wait for a response. “He starts next week.”

“Good.” You turned back to the bottles, not noticing the way that his eyes narrowed at your answer. He stood up throwing away the trash and headed behind the bar, all the while you remained focused on the task at hand.

Warmth hit your back letting you know that he was a lot closer than you originally thought. But you tried not to let it get to you, keeping your attention on the sheet of inventory in front of you. Only when he decided to rest his chin on your shoulder, his breath hitting your cheek, did you no longer try to focus. What the fuck was he playing at?

“Don’t tell me you’re in love already sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear, his lips brushing against your jaw.

You couldn’t help the shiver that went down your spine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He grinned and you could feel it as he continued to brush his nose against your cheek. “Sure, you don’t. He does have a good resume. Drives a nice bike too.”

You turned your head slightly, your lips nearly brushing against his and forcing you to hold your breath. “You sure you’re not the one falling for him Romeo?”

Another chuckle right against your ear that had you nearly closing your eyes in pleasure. “Why? You jealous?”

“Nope.” Turning you felt your chest press against his, as his hands rested on either side of the counter, locking you in place. “You two would make for a very cute couple.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it immediately after. Finally. You finally managed to render him speechless. His arms fell away giving you space to move, but you saw the glint in his eyes. Mischief and humor as he tried not to laugh at what you said. Handing him the inventory sheet you stepped away and got ready to open up the place for the night knowing it would be a long night of working already. But you couldn’t hold back the smile you gave him, almost as if you were showing off how proud you were at making him completely and utterly speechless.

**Romeo – 6**

**You – 2**

\------

Oh, it was definitely a long night. The crowd didn’t end up being too bad, what with it being Sunday, but there still remained quite a number of people. Romeo helped this time, making half the drink orders while you did the other half and each serving them yourselves. One person behind the bar is how you worked. If he needed to step away to serve, you stayed behind to keep it under control and he did the same for you. The routine that happened effortlessly days ago now felt natural.

The bikers from before still showed up every night, sitting at their usual tables, but you’d grown to become friendly with them. Paz wasn’t too bad in actuality, giving a few jokes a night to make you laugh or smile and then making bets with the other men to see who could do it better than him. Except you’d never tell them that no matter how hard they tried, no one would do it better than the man behind the bar who watched you like a hawk every time you walked to their table.

They became another comfort that came with working at The Crest.

You were finished cleaning up for the night, throwing the towel down and reaching for your jacket to get out. All night you tried to avoid his touch, his eyes, everything, because you still couldn’t let go of this morning. You hoped he didn’t notice, but knowing him he always did. And so, you did your best to get through it, giving him short answers in order to finish quicker, and remaining farther away from him than before.

The jacket came within an inch of your hand before a bottle and two glasses were being placed in front of you. He sat down on one of the stools, pouring the whiskey into each glass and pushing one your way. Another part of your routine, sharing a drink once the night was over, and it looked like he wouldn’t let you get out of it. Glancing between him and the glass you resigned yourself to your fate and collapsed into the stool, your feet giving out on you after standing all night.

“Tired?” he asked, taking a sip of the drink.

“Understatement of the century.”

He nodded, pouring more into his glass. “Been a busy week.”

You drank in silence, enjoying the calm after the storm of chaos that was running the bar, and it felt nice. The stress of the night easing out of you slowly and then all at once, until you didn’t care about feeling awkward around him anymore. Although that was probably due to the whiskey that flowed through your body, calming you with every sip you took.

“Let’s play a game,” you said suddenly. Bad idea? Oh absolutely, but you wanted to get to know him better and this might help that.

“What game?”

“You ever play never have I ever?” You waited patiently hoping he’d at least heard of it and when he smiled slightly you knew he had.

“Yeah, I’ve played it.” He poured you another shot. “Who starts?”

You thought about it for a second before taking the lead. “Never have I ever...been in a biker gang.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but took the shot anyways and you wrote it down mentally. So, he actually did have a past with the bikers that hung around here.

“Never have I ever been a girl scout.”

Your jaw fell open. “How the fuck-”

“I didn’t know, but thank you for giving me the answer.” He smiled watching you down the shot, your face screwing in slightly as it burned on the way down.

Pouring another one you thought for a moment. “Okay. Never have I ever...had a huge crush on a musician.” You both drank, but you were curious on his answer. He busied himself with pouring another round of shots before seeing your raised eyebrow.

“Stevie Nicks,” he grunted out.

You laughed. “I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah. And yours?”

“Never telling you.” You could see how much whiskey you were drinking and knew that it would get you into trouble, but this was beginning to get fun. Especially since you were learning more about him than you thought you ever would.

“It’s only fair that you do.”

“I never said anything about being fair Romeo.” Trying to ignore his glare, you dug your nail into the bar wood. “Your turn.”

He nodded turning to his drink, before going back to you. “Never have I ever had sex in a bar.”

The air shifted immediately within a few seconds and you felt your hair stand up on the back of your neck. Questions like this were dangerous and you didn’t think they’d be asked, but it seemed he liked to play with fire. Taking in a shaky breath you met his eyes and watched as he downed the shot, but you remained still. He’d known your answer before you did. You had hookups yes, except you never did it in the bar, always being taken to their place before it happened.

He dropped the glass on the bar lightly, heading for the bottle and pouring another shot, but even you knew the game had ended. Now it was just a matter of what would come next. You didn’t move, didn’t even dare breathe, because you didn’t want to do something wrong. This could just be a part of the game, could be him teasing you again to get a rise out of you. But even you knew it was more than that.

“Well?” he asked.

You coughed. “The answer’s a no.”

He nodded, glancing down to your glass before trailing his way up your body till he hit your eyes again. “Would you like to?” he asked softly, his voice dropping.

The air was shoved out of your lungs and you were unable to do anything but sit there dumbfounded. That was it. The final play he had left in his arsenal and you were ready to give in, finally snap and say yes. Except you could see that he was holding something back, probably another flush of cards in this gambling game you both started. And fuck if you didn’t want to know what it was.

“I should go,” you got out, your voice hoarse even though you barely said anything.

He stood with you, handing you your jacket and bag, before stepping in closer. If he wanted to win the game, he had already done it. Beat you in this everlasting chase of cat and mouse, but whereas before you would ask who the cat would be, now you knew the answer. Meeting his gaze, you felt another shiver go up your spine, the temptation to just reach out and touch him, nearly forcing you to do so.

It’s when he started leaning in that you felt your heart rate skyrocket and your brain turn to mush. Was he about to kiss you? Or were you imagining it happening? Either way you didn’t know to react. What the fuck should you do? Let him just initiate, or do you lean in yourself? Slowly but surely, he leaned in fully, brushing his nose against yours and you continued to remain as still as possible.

His lips brushed against your cheek before hitting your ear. “You left the plates on the kitchen table this morning,” he whispered.

You tried to figure out what that meant and felt your eyebrows furrow, but then he pulled away and you saw his shit-eating grin. The realization dawned on you as he walked away from you, calling out a goodnight over his shoulder. He fucking knew. He knew you were there the whole time, and moaned your name on purpose. You weren’t sure if you wanted to strangle him or kiss him. Both sounded appealing at this time.

The hot feeling of having him near still spread over your body, but even you couldn’t deny that this meant one thing and one thing only.

Romeo wanted to play, so you’d give him the best damn game of his life. You’d play until he snapped in two, because there was no way in hell that you were losing against him.

**Romeo – 7**

**You - 2**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game could be described in many ways. This one was something akin to dirty poker; something you wanted to partake in, but also run from. You blamed the man you were playing with for being the reason you stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is such a long chapter so if you read all of it you're a real one. Also the next one might take some time to come out, because I have to finish writing it. Thank you to those who are loving this story as much as I love it.
> 
> Warnings: Explicit (FINALLY), cussing (as always), tw alcohol consumption, teasing, din being a slight dick, fingering, cum eating (cause why the fuck not), cum play, creampie (don’t look at me), dirty talk, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (i’m so sorry y’all), rough sex, oh yeah and body shots (because i’m awful).

The definition of a game is as follows: a form of play or sport, especially a competitive one played according to rules and decided by skill, strength, or luck. Now that’s if you’re using it as a noun. Adjective would be: eager or willing to do something new or challenging. Both of those had been going through your mind all night and all morning. For nearly nine hours you couldn’t stop thinking about this _game_ that he’d started, that he wanted you to play. Romeo’s words, the realization, they wouldn’t stop slipping into your thoughts to a point where you actually looked up the definition of the word game.

If you were to describe what he did last night. You’d use the definition in terms of being a verb: manipulate (a situation), typically in a way that is unfair. It was _unfair_ what he did. He asked you a simple question that left you nearly ready to crack and yet still he decided to throw one more blow into the mix, show his flush and take everything with him. And that’s _exactly_ what he did.

He was playing the dirtiest game of poker that you’d ever seen, that you ever participated in, and you weren’t even going to let him get a chance of winning. That wouldn’t be happening. So, what to do when someone initiates a game so filthy that it makes you wonder if there’s any sanity left in either of you? Well, you play along, and hope that you know how to play dirtier than they do.

Did you take extra care in your appearance this morning? Possibly. You made sure that when he saw you, he’d be stunned, and while it was absolutely ridiculous to get fancy just for this, you didn’t care. You were a competitive person, always had been, and he just offered you the best competition you ever participated in. Except in this case there were no rules.

Last night you felt it, the tension that you could practically taste in the air. He wanted you, if what you heard yesterday, what he meant for you to hear, was anything to go by. Now it would just be a matter of getting him too either-

  1. To say it out loud in a full confession. Or
  2. Figure out a way to get him to slip up, AKA get him to break.



Opening the doors of the bar you tossed your jacket and bag over the bar again and did what you always did. Put on some music, got ready for things to be opening and prepared to face him again after what happened the previous night. Mentally you were ready to see him, physically you knew that one look into those damn brown eyes of his and you were screwed. Utterly and royally fucked. You didn’t even know his first name yet here you were willingly playing right into his hands, letting him tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

The jukebox took a few moments to flip to the next song as it always did, giving you time to hear him moving around upstairs. What sounded like water running told you that he was showering and the memories of yesterday’s morning adventure had you pausing whatever you were doing to take in a deep breath. Seriously you needed to get your shit together. No big deal, right? Hearing him getting off to the thought of you and moaning your name. Why would that be any reason to be a panting hot mess hearing him just go _into_ the shower?

Inhaling another breath and shoving away the mental images your brain was giving you of him being naked and touching himself, you came to one conclusion.

You were fucked.

He had you in the palm of his hand, had you backed into a corner, and all he had to do was strike. Make his final move and capture you, claim you as his. Grabbing the inventory sheet from the box he left out this morning, you did your best to focus on the work at hand. There was other shit that needed to be done rather than you fantasizing about your somewhat boss and or friend taking you against his shower wall.

Getting lost in the work you began to put things in order easily, figuring that it would do you good to work out your nerves by wiping down the tables and bar. Once again, the jukebox flipped to a new track, this one more of Romeo’s music taste than yours, but you found that you didn’t mind it. The beat echoed through the bar, keeping you distracted. So much so that you didn’t see a certain someone come downstairs.

You had moved to stacking bottles before you knew it and turned to set a bottle of gin on the shelf but froze at the sight in front of you. The asshole was standing shirtless in front of you, pushing his hair back and holding his dark Henley in his hand. Black dark inky tattoos ran up his upper arms and chest and you could see a skull on his hip similar to the necklace he always wore. More writing that you didn’t understand was above several tattoos, but it was the trail of hair that led down into his jeans that made your mouth water.

“Careful sweetheart,” he said.

Careful with what? With the fact that you now wanted to trace every tattoo on his skin with your tongue? Or that you wanted to find out what exactly lay at the end of that trail of hair? It took you a few moments to realize that he was actually in fact talking about the bottle of gin that dangled between your fingertips. With all your drooling you forgot what you were holding onto and with a sheepish smile you brought it up to your chest. Cleaning broken glass up off the floor is not how you needed to spend your morning.

“Something wrong with your shirt?” You wanted to get under his skin, but really you hoped that something was indeed wrong with his shirt.

He smiled, slipping it on and covering the tattoos. “I heard a bang down here, wanted to make sure everything was fine.”

“Bang?”

You waited around for his answer, but then he laughed to himself and you knew that he was once again fucking with you. The insufferable man had come downstairs shirtless to mess with you and it had worked yet again. You were putty in his hands. Not only was he playing dirty, but he just upped the stakes entirely.

“How did you sleep?” He moved behind the bar to help and you definitely noticed the way that his hand brushed across your lower back, the warmth of his palm seeping right through the thin t-shirt you wore.

He was asking how you slept after pulling a move like that? Is he serious? What were you supposed to tell him that you went home and got off to the thought of him, having never orgasmed that hard in your life? You were sure he’d definitely appreciate it.

“Fine. You?” Yes, short answers were good. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Very...satisfied.” He stuck the bottle in place and moved to grab another box. Meanwhile you were clamping your thighs together and trying your best to not go into the inventory room with him and ask him to take you.

Not even with your ex had you been flustered so easily. Although even you had to admit that Romeo was ten times the man that your ex was and that answer came after knowing him for a week and a half. You wouldn’t even bother comparing them, because only one man had been able to wedge himself into your head constantly. It had become a challenge to _not_ think about him, and you tried, you really did, but nothing worked. Honestly it didn’t help that he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing to you. Every move, touch, word he said seemed to be all geared towards affecting you; towards making sure that you thought about nothing but him.

You told yourself that it was all for the game. That he wanted to be a little shit and get under your skin, but even you knew that this wasn’t just about getting under your skin. He did these things to show that he in fact wanted you a lot more than you thought he did.

“Y/N.” You were jolted back to reality.

“Huh?”

“You went quiet on me,” he said, setting the box on the bar and coming closer to you. “Everything alright?”

You reached for the first bottle of wine, turning to put it in place. “I’m good. Just a little tired. I had a long night.” You winced as you said it knowing that it sounded like you were upset by what happened.

Except he smiled slightly, moving to hand you another bottle of wine. “Any reason why?”

You wondered how he’d react if you outright said it. _Hey I couldn’t sleep because I had two of my fingers buried inside myself knuckle deep to the thought of you._ Even thinking it made you shrink in on yourself, let alone even saying it out loud. Better he not know how much he affected you. Most likely better for his ego as well, because he seemed very smug that he managed to reduce you to nothing but a speechless mess last night. Fuck that crooked smile of his that made you want to kiss him. You came in today ready to put up the best damn game he ever had, and now look at you. Ready to give in and surrender.

Fine, he wanted to play. You’d play.

Turning back to him, you got ready to give him a taste of his own medicine. Only you didn’t see the wine bottle he was holding out to you, and certainly didn’t have time to grab onto it before he let go. You know those times in life where things slow down and you’re left to watch as it happens, when in actuality it only took a mere few seconds? That was you watching the wine bottle shatter on the ground, red liquid effectively splashing back and onto the white shirt you were wearing.

He let a string of curse words fly as he knelt to the ground, towel covering his hand as he picked up pieces of glass. You moved to help, but he stood up suddenly, dropping the now closed up towel onto the bar and stepping towards you. Without words he pushed you back lightly until your back hit the counter and he was motioning for you to jump.

“I can help,” you said, feeling his hands grip at your hips as he pushed you onto the counter’s surface.

He shook his head. “I’ve got it.” You weren’t looking at him, but instead at the mess you made, feeling slightly stupid for even dropping the bottle in the first place. He tilted your chin up forcing you to meet his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Were you? This man had gotten so far into your head, distracted you so much, that you had broken a bottle. Did that seem okay to you? Maybe you were finally losing it. That might be a better comfort than going through life completely and utterly stuck on one thing. Fuck. You had to pull your shit together and fast. The bar was opening in a few hours and you couldn’t afford to be distracted when it came to serving customers.

Pushing him back lightly, you slid off the counter and began to walk towards the stairs that led to his apartment.

“Where are you going?” he asked, getting ready to follow you, but realizing the mess still remained on the ground.

“I need a new shirt.” This wasn’t a part of the game, hadn’t been a play you planned out to get to him, but the second you said those words you felt it. Glancing back at him you found his eyes stuck to a different part of you, and it was definitely nowhere near your head. “Well?”

His eyes shot up to your face. “Huh?”

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” You gestured to the red splotch on your shirt for dramatic effect and it seemed to have worked, because he was stepping over the mess and heading towards the stairs with you.

Were you finally seeing things or was there a faint red tint on his cheeks? You couldn’t be sure, but you were half tempted to ask him to stop so you could reach forward and bring his face closer for further inspection. If you did that, he’d definitely think you were crazy, so you opted for following him silently into his apartment instead.

The last time you were in here you heard him, and it seemed the memory had yet to fade, because the second you entered it all came rushing back. The sounds he made, the way you nearly had a heart attack in his kitchen from it, and the fact that he knew that whole time. That’s what you couldn’t understand. How the fuck had he known you were inside his kitchen? Were you that loud?

“Here you go,” he said, tossing you a black button-down shirt. “Shouldn’t show anything if you spill again.”

“Thanks.” You really liked this shirt and wondered what he’d look like wearing it. Or possibly even having it unbuttoned as he went-

No. Absolutely not. You wouldn’t give your mind the chance to mess around with those thoughts. Not right now when you knew that he wanted you to give in. You refused to give him the satisfaction of winning, and so, you watched as he left you to change, making sure to shut the door behind him.

The first thing you noticed after stripping yourself of your shirt and slipping his on, was that it smelled like him. He wore some type of cologne, but you couldn’t place the name. Only that it smelled delicious. But there was another scent you had trouble thinking of. Something that was completely and utterly him. You didn’t bother with buttoning all the way down, and instead tying it at your waist where your jeans ended. If you showed a bit of skin then that was fine by you. Maybe it would do him good to lose the upper hand.

“Dameron called and he’s-” He froze in front of you, eyes widening slightly before scanning your figure until he hit your face again.

Meanwhile you wanted to scream, pump your fists, jump for joy at the reaction he gave you. Romeo was rendered speechless at the sight of you in his shirt and you were ready to throw a damn parade because of it. You relished in it a bit, letting his eyes go back and forth between your eyes to your chest to the small strip of skin between your jeans and the bottom of his shirt. He looked like he was mentally self destructing and you caused it, had made him lose a small portion of the game. This wouldn’t even out the score, but fuck it felt good to see him like this with no smart comments or teases.

“He’s what?” you asked. His dark eyes flashed back to yours, and you could see the heat in them, practically melting through you, telling you exactly what he wanted from you.

It snapped him out of his reverie, but he didn’t say anything yet, continuing to watch you like you were prey and he was predator. For all you knew he actually was the predator, catching you, his meal. But that reaction told you differently. He hadn’t expected this and he knew that you knew it.

“He’s coming by to fill out paperwork.”

You nodded moving to walk past him, but he turned to face you, effectively stopping you from going further. This is where you hoped, yearned, wished for him to give in, to take the final leap and do something. Anything other than this. But even you knew it would take something drastic for him to say he’d been defeated. Leaning forward he brought a hand towards your face. Not quite touching you, but still close enough for you to feel the warmth radiate off his palm.

The smart thing would be to stay quiet and let him do his thing. To not interrupt whatever the hell was happening and go with it instead. But you rarely did the smart thing when it came to him, and your mouth opened faster than you could will your brain to keep it shut.

“Remind him to fill out the tax form,” you said.

What. The. Fuck.

Out of everything you could have said. All the words you could have strung together to get him to fall to his knees, to make him do anything other than stare at you. You had to say that? If it was possible you would hang a sign around your brain with the words OUT OF ORDER printed on it in large letters. It no longer worked. A gorgeous man who had somehow twisted you around his pinky finger was staring into your eyes with a look that made your toes curl in them, and all you had to say was to remind him about tax forms.

Surely there was an award for bad timing, because at this point you deserved it.

His lips tilted up into a small smile as he moved his hand to cup your face, the feeling nearly sending shivers down your spine. What was he doing? Was this him giving in? Except he didn’t move any closer; keeping his hand against your cheek and watching his thumb stroke against your skin. _Kiss me_. You were whispering it in your head over and over again, but for some reason you couldn’t say it out loud. When you moved to actually say it, is when his thumb ran across your bottom lip and everything in your brain shut off entirely.

You couldn’t move, breathe, think. His thumb just continued to brush against your bottom lip, pulling at it slightly before moving again to your cheek. Either way it worked. You were a mess of heat and nerves at this point, just waiting for him to do something, anything.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled under his breath, but it was loud enough for you to hear.

He didn’t say anything more, didn’t do anything else, but instead dropped his hand from your cheek and stepped away from you. He seemed perfectly fine, the heat fading from his eyes as he just walked away towards the stairs. Whereas you were having a mental heart attack. Again. Beautiful. Short, sweet, and simple, and once again you couldn’t do anything except stand there with your mouth slightly open.

“Why is it always one fucking word?” you whisper shouted into the empty bar.

The mess had been cleaned up from earlier, and the bottles were put into their proper places. That left you with cleaning off tables and opening up the bar, which you didn’t mind doing, but still your mind reeled from what just happened. Taking a breath, you grabbed a clean towel before getting back to work. All you had to do was make it through the night and you’d be perfectly fine.

\------

You weren’t fine.

In fact, you were the complete opposite of that word. Fine was an understatement for the way you were currently feeling, and honestly you couldn’t think of a word that really described how you were feeling. The bar was open and you had been doing your best to serve customers left and right with Romeo’s help, and that went okay. But then...the teasing started. Small touches here and there to rile you up, a brush of his hand against your skin showing at the small of your back. Drink orders that he could have shouted over the noise were instead, whispered into your ear until your eyes were closing.

All of it was on purpose. You knew that without a doubt, but couldn’t do anything except love every second. Sure, the score had fluctuated drastically over the night, but he was still winning by a landslide. However, you had managed to get him back a few times with touches of your own. A hand holding onto his upper arm as you _adjusted_ your shoe. Bending over to pick up things, more dramatically than you normally would have. Cliché moves? Maybe. But they were working.

“Can I get a beer?” someone asked, snapping you back to what you were doing.

Right, you were supposed to be making drinks. The bar was busier than usual, but that was a good thing to you; more business coming in meant good things for Romeo. He should be behind the bar, but instead he was speaking to Paz and the men at his table for whatever reason. You didn’t bother with it. Between getting the drinks out and helping Poe with the paperwork he had to fill out, you were busy enough.

“Here you go,” you replied, setting the drink in front of them to take.

“What the hell do I put here?” Poe called out from where he sat on the counter, clipboard in his lap and pen twirling between his fingers.

You took a glance at the paper. “That’s just a fancy way of saying former place of employment. So, you’re last job.”

“Why the fuck did he make it so confusing?” He scribbled in the last few lines and signed his name at the bottom before jumping down from the counter. “He couldn’t have just hired me like he did for you.”

“I didn’t have to fill them out.” You tossed him a towel to start helping and he caught it, throwing it over his shoulder.

“But he pays you?”

Complicated, was the true term to what you were actually doing here. He didn’t pay you, but you still helped. This wasn’t even a job technically, because you could leave and never come back and you’d never have to do anything about it. Although if you were being honest, the thought of leaving and never coming back didn’t sit too well with you. Pushing off Poe’s question you took the clipboard from the bar and set it on a shelf where it wouldn’t get ruined.

“Three orders of Manhattans for the table near the window,” you said.

He nodded, pulling out what he needed and getting to work immediately, doing it as if he’d done it all his life. This was the help that you were talking about and finally you wouldn’t have to try and dig through the crevices of your mind for drink recipes. Usually, it would take a while to make them, but Poe had them done in a few minutes easily before setting them on a tray and taking them to the table. The stress of the night could finally be eased.

“How’s everything going here?” Romeo asked, coming up behind you suddenly and making you jump. This man would fucking kill you one day.

“Poe filled out the paperwork and got right to work. He’s better at this than I will ever be. Also-” You saw the way his eyes narrowed slightly at the comment about the other bartender now working here. What the fuck was-

Oh.

He didn’t like that comment because he was...jealous? You brushed it off and chose to grab the bottle of whiskey that Paz asked for beforehand. He let you go, not making a move to stop you, but instead watching you the whole time as you walked over. Paz greeted you as he always did, with a smile and a sweet line about how nice you were. You wondered if he meant it, or if he did it to get under a certain someone’s skin, but either way you went along with it.

“Join us for a drink, sweet girl,” he said already pouring the whiskey into an empty glass. The name made your eyebrows raise and you could feel a set of eyes continue to burn into you. He heard. You knew he heard, and already knew he didn’t like it.

“I’m working,” you replied with a laugh.

“Djarin can let you go for five minutes. Right Djarin?” he shouted. Oh, you could feel the glare being sent towards Paz. “We’re doing a small game and we want you to join us.”

As much as Romeo needed you behind the bar, this really did sound like fun and you were agreeing to go along with it. After all when was the last time that you had fun with people you were beginning to consider friends? You couldn’t really remember. It had been long before you found this bar, let alone before breaking up with your ex. Calculating the time, you came to the conclusion that it had been a few months, which in your mind was too long.

“What’s the game?” you asked.

One of Paz’s buddies spoke up. “Song names. We have to say a song and whoever can remember either the album and the year it came out, wins. Loser has to take the shot.”

“I’m not good with music years,” you replied.

“Album should be fine then.” He handed you your glass, pouring some for himself as well.

“Pour me one too.” Poe came up behind you, giving you a smile and a wink as he was handed his shot glass as well. So, he really wanted to piss off Romeo on his first night huh. You couldn’t complain. They say drinking games build friendships with co-workers, right?

You all turned to Paz waiting for him to say the song you had to guess, but he turned to the only female at the table. She ran a finger around the rim of her glass, looking at each one of you individually before smiling at you in particular.

“Tusk, Fleetwood Mac.”

“1979,” was out of your mouth faster than you could blink, but someone had already beat you to it. He’d said it before you did along with the album the song was on, and you playfully glared at Poe while you took your shot.

“Have to be faster than that sweetheart,” he said, shoving your shoulder lightly.

Sweet girl, sweetheart. There was only man you liked calling you nicknames like that and he was currently standing at the bar waiting for you to return. Still, you could feel his eyes burning holes into your skin the longer you stood there playing this game. He didn’t like it, and you’d be told that later, but for now you were enjoying your time.

“Next song,” Paz said, pouring each person another shot.

The woman glanced at Poe before saying this one. “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” she said.

Poe’s mouth opened but she raised a finger to silence him. “The Mamas & The Papas.”

You smiled. “1968 and it wasn’t The Mamas & The Papas it was just Mama Cass. On her solo album Dream a Little Dream.” It was the album you’d bought when you were younger, one of the firsts actually and out of all the songs she could have picked, somehow, she picked that one.

“You’re better than I thought,” Poe said taking his shot and waiting for Paz to pour him another one. “Why don’t we make this next one interesting.”

Paz perked up at that offer. “What did you have in mind?”

Poe’s gaze never left you. “Winner has to do a body shot off the loser.”

Your heart dropped. Shit. If you lost, he’d do one off you and if he won, you’d do one off him and you knew without a doubt if that happened, Poe would be murdered by the man who still remained behind the bar. You thought fast on how to get the fuck out of this situation, but they were already turning towards the woman. Okay so it wouldn’t be too bad if you lost or if you won. You’d just have to say goodbye to The Crest and everyone there because you knew Romeo would hate you.

She glanced between you and Poe. “Since I’ve Been Loving You, Led Zeppelin.”

Poe froze and so did you. You didn’t know the years let alone the albums of Led Zeppelin. You knew the song, because Romeo had it play once in a while in the bar, but other than that you didn’t know jack shit. Poe looked to be wracking his brain for it and you panicked. Okay come up with an answer now or you were screwed and you did, you really tried, but nothing came up. Fuck why didn’t you ever ask Romeo about this band?

He opened his mouth to say it but was cut off by a voice coming directly behind you.

“October of 1970 on the Led Zeppelin III album.”

Poe turned coming face to face with Romeo holding a fresh bottle of whiskey for the table. His eyes were narrowed and you swore you saw Poe shrink in on himself slightly before muttering a sorry and moving out of the way. You however were stuck in place. What did this mean? Did he win? The woman was smiling at Romeo as he put the bottle down directly in front of her, gathering the shot glasses.

“I think we’re going to need tequila instead,” she said, pushing the bottle back. “You won Djarin.”

He grunted out a word you couldn’t understand, before grabbing the bottle and turning back to you, eyes meeting your wide ones. You saw him nod towards the bar as a gesture to follow you and without thinking you obeyed. The table all stood, their chairs screeching on the floor and went with you. Romeo ran a towel on the bar, his eyes once again meeting yours and you suddenly knew what you had to do. This turned out a lot differently than you thought it would, but it was all fun and games, right? What could go wrong?

The answer was...a lot.

Paz’s hands came to your hips causing you to jump before helping you get on the bar and suddenly you were laying down and pulling your shirt up. Romeo turned around with the salt, lime, and tequila but paused at the sight of you laying on his bar, your head turned towards him. You hadn’t felt confident about this until that happened. The sight of his mouth falling open slightly before snapping shut again, his eyes darkening instantly was all you needed to smile at him. Within a manner of seconds, he’d made you feel awkward to suddenly desirable and he didn’t have to do anything but look.

“Well Romeo?” you asked playfully.

His lips twitched as he fought the urge to smile and instead opened the bottle of tequila. Cold hands from the woman at the table hit your stomach as she poured the salt in a trail upwards till it hit below your breasts. You carefully placed the lime between your teeth making sure not to bite down. To say your heart was racing was an understatement. You felt like it was going to burst out of your chest every time his eyes met yours. If someone told you last night that you’d be allowing Romeo do a body shot off of you all because of a drinking game, then you would have laughed and told them to go get help.

Yet there you were watching as he held the bottle in his hands, his eyes meeting yours one last time before he was bringing it to your skin. It felt cold and you nearly winced at the feeling, but held as still as possible.

Trying not to do anything but breathe, you watched as he leaned forward and pressed his tongue against your skin. Fuck you had to hold your breath as he licked the salt up off your body, the warmth of his tongue seeping into your skin and sending heat streaking down your spine and straight to your core. You tried not to close your eyes, but the sensation was too good, too overwhelming to a point of near ecstasy.

A slight slurping noise echoed around you as he sucked on the part of you that he poured the shot on, and you jolted when his teeth dug into you lightly. He sure was taking his time with this shot, or maybe that was you living it out in milliseconds rather than actual seconds. Soon the warmth of his mouth disappeared, but then his face was directly above yours. Dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust stared into yours and you allowed your eyes to flutter close when he pulled the lime from your mouth. His lips brushing against yours.

Hearing the cheer from Paz and the others you realized that he finished, the lime being discarded in a bin as the others all gave props to Romeo. Meanwhile you were still stuck on the bar, trying to remember how to breathe properly. One part of you was ready to ask him to take you upstairs, close up the bar and have his way with you. While the other part screamed at you to get up, get your shit together, and figure out a way to get him back.

Sitting up slowly, his hands were already at your hips waiting to help you get down. He smiled softly at you, and it gave you a small piece of comfort, but still you wanted to fight him. He not only ranked up the score so high that there was no way to get him back, but he was also being nice at the same time. Seriously did this man have no flaws?

You brushed against his body as you got off the bar and felt it. The hardness dug into your stomach quickly before he was stepping back from you and handing you a towel. You weren’t the only one affected by that body shot. While you knew that a pool of wetness had steadily leaked into your underwear as it happened, you felt triumphant in knowing that he’d gotten hard. Heat rushed to your face at the thought of what he could do to relieve it, but they were immediately shoved out of your mind.

“Nice work on winning,” you said, sounding breathless. _Please don’t notice_ , you whispered mentally.

He noticed.

“I didn’t know you liked that song,” he replied.

“What song?”

Pouring two glasses of whiskey he handed them off to the woman at the bar. “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”

You smiled at him, handing over the bottle of wine he needed. “It was on one of the first albums I bought. I fell in love with it then.”

Was this him trying to get to know you better again? Last night’s attempt was good, but it ended differently than you expected. But right now, felt more. Almost as if he was nervous in a way to even ask you about things you liked. Or maybe you were just imagining things again and he was simply making conversation to keep the night going. Except if you had the choice, you’d ask him more about himself. You wanted to know this man, truly know him. And you wanted to start with his first name.

“Bar’s closing in an hour. Do you want to stick around for a drink?” he asked.

He never asked if you wanted to stay; always assuming you did. It wasn’t like you were going to ever say no to his offer, so you said yes and watched him walk over to a table, drinks in hand. Now all you had to do was make it another hour or two without throwing in the metaphorical towel and declaring him a winner. _Again_. He liked to win things. That was something that you could add to your very short list of details you’d gathered about him.

\------

One hour later and the bar had been cleaned of people. Glasses were put away after being washed and surfaces were wiped down. All the while you and Romeo worked in silence, doing nothing but focusing on the tasks at hand. He didn’t say much to you, only giving a direction here and there, but you didn’t feel upset about it. The night was a long one and even after all of it, after all the teasing, you still felt comfortable in each other’s presence.

Yet after the body shot happened things had shifted between the two of you. No longer did the teasing feel playful, but more of a way to work the other person up. To finally reach the grand prize of winning and you think both of you came to the understanding that no matter who won, the prize would still remain the same. Which is probably why he continued to watch you when you thought he wasn’t looking and you the same for him. The seconds ticked by, each one longer than the last. All leading down to the final straw, the final move, the one that would break the other in half, and you wondered who’d be the one to make it.

He’d gone back to the inventory room to stack the empty bottles to take out to the trash later while you stood in the empty, now silent bar. You wanted to listen to music. More than you had before. So, you headed towards the jukebox and began looking through the list of songs he had on there, one in particular catching your eye.

Since I’ve Been Loving You by Led Zeppelin; his winning song. You smiled to yourself, playing it without a second thought, the soft guitar sound echoing in the bar and sending shivers down your spine. Okay. Now you understood why he loved this band so much. The songs were beginning to grow on you, but this one...this one was different. Almost as if the heat from when his tongue was stroking against your skin filled your veins with every note played. You heard him come back in, but you didn’t give a shit.

He could stand there and watch for all you cared. This was you giving in, you making one last final attempt at winning this stupid game of tension. You didn’t care anymore. He won the second he named that song for all you cared.

Your hands trailed up your body as you moved to the song, slowly at first, following the beat of the music. The low hum of heat thrummed in your veins faster with every note, every beat of the drums, until you were nearly panting with need. Turning slowly, you saw him, leaning against the bar and clenching his hands into fists, his jaw locked as tightly as the rest of his body. He was trying not to lose; you could see it clear as day.

Perhaps the next move was rude, an _unfair_ play, but he deserved it after last night. Your fingers worked at the first few buttons, a smile curling against your lips, and eyes drooping until they were nearly closed. He wanted to stand there and not touch you, not give into you? Fine. Except you heard him break, saw the string of control snap behind those beautiful brown eyes the second you slipped a finger into your mouth and trailed it downwards to your chest.

That’s all it took. One move and he was done for, letting out a low and whispered _fuck_ as he tried one last time to resist you. But you could see it. As much as he willed himself to, it’s not what he wanted in the end.

He was walking towards you quickly before turning you and wrapping on arm around your waist, his hand going firmly yet lightly against your throat. Maybe you gasped, you couldn’t tell, because he was sinking his teeth into the skin of your neck, pulling against you until you felt him grind himself into you. What you felt earlier was definitely still there, and a thrill went through you at the realization that you caused it.

“You want to play dirty sweetheart?” he roughly asked in your ear, his breath hitting your cheek as he continued to grind into you, moving you to the music just as you were doing before. He nipped sharply at your throat when you didn’t say anything. “I need an answer.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Only fair since you-” His hand squeezed your throat lightly causing you to lose your breath.

“Since I what hm?” His arm moved from your waist to push _his_ shirt up, until his palm met your bare skin. “I wasn’t the one listening in yesterday.”

Closing your eyes when he kissed at your neck, his tongue running across the skin, you tried to keep your words straight. “But you knew I was there.”

That silenced him immediately, his thumb rubbing small circles into your neck as he moved to continue pressing open mouthed kissed to whatever skin he could get to. Was he just not going to respond to that? You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, but you wanted to hear his response. Wanted to know what he thought of you figuring out about him knowing you were there the whole time.

He chuckled in your ear, the sound sending shivers down your spine as you closed your eyes. “You win,” he whispered.

Your eyes snapped open. What the fuck did he just say? You win? Does that mean he was giving in? Your mind raced at his words, but he was already working on something else, his hand moving from your throat to pull open the button on your jeans. Pushing his hands out of the way you pulled the zipper down and got ready to wiggle out of them, but he had other ideas. His palm slid across your stomach, dipping into the front of your jeans and underneath your underwear before running against your slit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he growled out, his fingers dipping into your slick that had been slowly leaking from you all day. “Is this what I do to you?” He sounded like he was in disbelief at the notion, and you couldn’t help but smile slightly at that.

“Yes,” you breathed feeling his fingers find your clit as he began to stroke it slowly.

His hand returned to your throat, keeping you against him, but it wasn’t like you were going anywhere anytime soon. Pressing down against your clit caused your hips to jolt as you tried to grind down against his fingers, wanting more than he was giving you. He muttered out yet another word you couldn’t understand as he shifted his hand down and was slipping two fingers into you. A moan left your lips at the slight stretch, the overwhelming sensation that this was happening, you had won and now he was going to have you.

“Please,” you pleaded with him. “I need you to-” His fingers curling inside you and brushing against that spot that sent sparks up your body cut you off, a choked moan tearing from your throat.

“I know what you need sweetheart,” he replied, his voice seeming to have dropped even more.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, before pushing them back in, making sure to grind his palm against your clit. It nearly had you falling to the ground, your legs beginning to shake as he did it again. And again. And again. He did it until you were a moaning, whimpering mess. You dug your fingers into his wrist, grinding down on his palm, and panting at every stroke. His speed quickened when he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, the song having ended a while ago, leaving only the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into you to echo around the bar.

“I’m-fuck-I’m going to cum,” you cried out in a broken voice.

His fingers tightened a little more around your throat, turning your head until your lips met his and he devoured you as you moaned into the kiss. Pressing against your clit one last time he felt your walls tighten before you were crying out, your release running through your body sending sparks up and down your spine. He continued to pump his fingers into you until you were gripping onto his wrist, stopping his movements, and kissing him back.

You felt the aftershocks hit you when he pulled his fingers from you, but you were too focused on his lips to care. He licked into your mouth, pulling another moan from you and effectively turning your mind inside out. Out of all the kisses you’d had in your life, none of them compared to this. It was as if he knew your body, knew what you wanted already. Perhaps he did. You might just be that easy to read.

He sunk his teeth into your bottom lip, pulling on it lightly before leaning his forehead against your shoulder. You could feel him breathing heavily behind you, trying to most likely gain control of himself in some way. Except you wanted that to break again, wanted to see him turn into the man who had just taken you, once more. Pulling his hand out of your pants, you gripped at his wrist, leading his hand towards your mouth. His head raised instantly when you wrapped your lips around his fingers, beginning to clean them off.

“Fuck. You’re going to be the death of me sweetheart,” he whispered watching you lick and suck at his fingers like they were something else. Your eyes met his as you did it and once again, he snapped.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth he moved them to his own mouth, moaning at the taste of you, before moving his hand from your throat to your waist. You smiled briefly when he pushed you towards the bar without any words. He didn’t need them, because you knew what he wanted. You were already squirming in place, restless for him to push his way inside you, but his grip on your hips stopped you from moving.

“Hands on the bar,” he said, already tugging your jeans and underwear down past your ass before spreading your legs.

“Yes sir,” you teased. But the sound that tore from his throat followed by the rushed sound of him unbuckling his belt let you know that maybe he liked that a little more than you thought. Hell, you liked it as well, feeling another rush of slick begin to drip down your thigh.

You were about to ask, or beg, you weren’t really sure at this point, for him to do something when the head of cock pressed against you. His hands came to rest on either side of you, caging you against the bar as he began to push into you, breaking you open until your eyes rolled back, a throaty moan falling from your lips. He let out his own sound as he continued, stopping every few seconds to let you adjust before pushing more. But you couldn’t wait anymore, needing desperately to have all of him inside you. He didn’t expect you to push back, sinking yourself onto him until he was completely buried inside you, by the sound he made.

“Shit-hang on- _shit_ -one second,” he panted out, his head resting on your shoulder.

Already you could feel the tightness forming in your belly, threatening to push you over the edge again and you wanted it. Snaking a hand back, you dug it into his hair as you pushed back against him more, hoping he’d get the hint to move. He didn’t move, remaining inside you, leaving you to whine as you clenched around him, desperate for friction. Teeth sunk into your neck, the sharp sting of pain mixed with the fullness of him sending another wave of slick on his cock and dripping down to his balls.

“Already soaking me and I haven’t even done anything yet,” he said against your skin, the smirk evident in his voice.

Fuck him. Fuck the fact that he wouldn’t move, that he was content to just let you writhe right on the edge of pleasure when he _knew_ you needed more. The amount of self control he held continued to surprise you, but everyone had a limit, didn’t they? Reaching down you began to rub your clit in fast circles, clenching around his cock even more and forcing a groan from his lips. He thrust shallowly into you, brushing against your g-spot. Now it was your turn to cry out, before his hand gripped onto yours and yanked it away from your clit.

“I can do that.”

You turned your head to meet his eyes. “You sure?” His eyes narrowed slightly and you knew the next few words out of your mouth would be the cause of your death. “Apparently I have to take matters into my own hands.”

Everyone had a limit, and you had just found his. Dug it out of his mind and handed it back to him on a silver platter. Proving someone wrong. That seemed to be his breaking point, and you could see it, knowing you hit a nerve that he didn’t like. He bared his teeth slightly in a smile that made you want to whimper and say you were just kidding. That you didn’t mean what you said, but it had already been done.

His hand returned to your neck. “If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask sweetheart.”

You smiled, hand reaching behind you to fondle his balls. “Consider this me asking Romeo.”

He gripped your hands in his, pushing them back against the bar in a move that said _don’t you dare move from this spot_ , before his hands landed on your hips. You wanted this, wanted him to ruin you just as much as you seemingly ruined him, and he was ready to give it to you. Pulling out he slammed back in, earning a cry from you as he pushed against your g-spot again. His pace was brutal, fast, everything both of you needed since coming to one realization.

You wanted each other.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled out, slamming into you and hearing your loud cries, whimpers, moans, everything he could pull from you echo around the bar.

“Yes,” you shouted when his hand snaked to your front and began toying with your clit again.

He pushed against your back, forcing you to arch forward and changing the angle. Your face was pressed on the bar, but you didn’t give a shit about it, just taking whatever, he would give you. The tightness in your belly was growing with every thrust he made into you, until he was barely pulling out anymore. Sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wetness of you and him combined, filled the bar like its own kind of music. The notes coming from one another to make a song only you two could play together.

“Gonna cum,” you gasped out.

It only made him speed up, his arm wrapped around your waist and dragging you against him. He pinched your clit between his fingers smiling against your neck when you screamed for him, your eyes shutting and back arching. You were right there, the pleasure threatening to consume you until he was all you knew. He turned your head to press his lips to yours, continuing to fuck into you roughly and hard enough to leave you tender later.

“You going to scream for me sweetheart?” He bit at your bottom lip.

Nodding, you could barely open your eyes with the delirious prospect of your orgasm rushing to the forefront.

“Din,” he whispered in your ear. “If you’re screaming, you’re screaming my name baby.”

All it took was one more harsh thrust from him as he pressed against your clit and you were falling off the cliff, the white-hot pleasure rushing through every fiber of your body until you couldn’t feel anything but him. His name, the one thing you wanted to know, was a prayer on your lips as you said it over and over again for him to hear. _Din_. _Din_. _Din_. You couldn’t stop saying it, and as he continuously thrust into you, speeding up even more and chasing his release, he pushed you to another point of pleasure.

“I know you have one more for me sweetheart,” he bit out, rubbing harsh circles over your clit, overstimulating you, but you begged for it all the same. “You’re fucking beautiful taking my cock like this.”

“Din,” you moaned out weakly, having it turn into another scream as he bent you to his will. This orgasm threatened to pull you under with it, but you fought to stay with him, wanting to hear and see as he let himself go.

"Fuck-where?” He kissed your lips to draw your attention back to him. “Got to tell me where you want me baby.”

“Inside,” you gasped. “Inside me, please.”

The sound he made as he spilled into you sounded like heaven to your ears. Thrusting shallowly, he coated your walls in him, losing himself in his release just as you had done. You whimpered at the warm feeling of him, eyes closing at the sensation of the aftershocks sparking across your skin. It took a few moments for him to catch his breath, but eventually he was pulling out of you causing you to shiver. A kiss was pressed to your lips as he ran his fingers against your skin.

“Sweetheart?” he asked softly. “Are you with me?”

You smiled in response. “I’m with you.” You were sure you looked completely and utterly fucked out, but the look in his eyes told you he liked it. Enjoyed seeing what he did to you.

“Want something to drink?”

“Please,” you replied managing to remain on your feet as he went to grab a clean towel to wipe up the mess between your legs. Dipping your hand down you gathered the mixture of your cum on your fingers before slipping them into your mouth, moaning at the taste.

He pulled your hand away from your mouth. “Don’t do that unless you want me to fuck you again.”

Now that certainly sounded appealing, but you knew both of you needed a break before going at it again. He handed you glass of water before the whiskey and you downed both swiftly, feeling the dryness in your throat after screaming so much. He watched you, making sure you actually drank all of it before even taking a sip of his drink.

Silence filled the bar as he sat beside you, his fingers playing with yours and smiling at you every once in a while. The whole thing was funny to you. The fact that you entered his bar, sat right where you were sitting now, and had no idea what you were getting into. He brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing your wrist and biting at it playfully. Out of all the people you could have met in New York, somehow, someway, you met him, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

“You like biting me,” you said, tugging your arm back, but unable to escape his grip.

“I can’t help that you taste delicious.” His eyes met yours, the tease clear in them.

“You don’t even know what I taste like.”

You snapped your mouth shut the second you said it, already seeing his eyes darken as he continued to watch you. He liked what you said, but could also say that it was true. He didn’t know what you tasted like. Yet something told you he’d find out soon enough. Coughing lightly, you stood up trying to catch your breath and avoid his stare that burned into you. It didn’t help that you could feel the combined mixture of his and your cum steadily leaking out of you.

“Do you mind if I stay over tonight? It’s late and...”

He stood up, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. You dug your hands into his shirt, keeping him against you as you licked your way into his mouth. This kiss wasn’t like earlier, didn’t feel rough or rushed. This was him finally kissing you the way he wanted to without the underlying need to be inside you. And dammit if he didn’t know how to kiss. You were becoming dizzy just from his lips, teeth, and tongue, but you persisted on more. Continuing to kiss him until all the breath left your lungs and you were in desperate need for air. Even then you still didn’t pull away.

“You can stay,” he breathed out. “Whenever you want, you can stay.”

Nodding you leaned forward for more of his lips, but he was pulling away and taking your hand instead, beginning to lead you upstairs. One single thought pushed its way to the forefront of your mind. This was happening. You were going to spend the night there sober and you weren’t sure if you wanted to scream from joy or go with what your nerves were doing. They jumped under your skin with every step taken towards his door until you finally stood in front of it, following him inside.

Things shifted the second he closed the door though. No longer did you feel fatigued from what happened before, the familiar heat you’d grown to love returning and slowly burning its way through you. His hands came to your hips, lightly pressing into the skin, until he was turning you to face him.

“I can take the couch if you want or-” He cut you off with another kiss using the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth.

“You aren’t taking the fucking couch,” he said into the kiss. His hands cupped the back of your neck as he kissed you into a state of delirium.

“Din,” you whispered against his lip. “Please.”

What were you saying please for again? You couldn’t quite remember. Maybe it was to have him inside you again, or to feel all of him at once. Whatever you were asking for you knew he’d give it to you, because he wanted it just as much, if not more. He pulled away from the kiss, brushing his nose against yours and smiling slightly.

“I want to taste you sweetheart.”

_Yes_ , you said immediately. He wanted to have you again? Have his way with you until you were a crying begging mess underneath him as you asked for more? You would say yes in a heartbeat each time, because you wanted it too. Wanted to be his in whatever way he’d take you. His hands deftly pulled open the button your jeans before he was kneeling down and pulling them off along with your shoes and underwear. Din Djarin. You repeated his name in your mind again and again, loving the sound of it each time. His lips trailed up your legs, biting some places, and kissing others, eliciting small sounds from you each time.

“Come here,” he whispered, tugging on your hand until you were lowering yourself to the floor with him.

His lips met yours again, because you couldn’t get enough of kissing him. He was addicting in his own way, the taste of him on your tongue, everything about him something you liked. Din pushed you back until you were laying on your back as he unbuttoned his shirt, getting it off you so he could trail kissing down your body. He really wanted to kill you. That’s all you could think about when he sank his teeth into your hipbone before pressing an open mouth kiss to your mound. Your breath came in short pants when he moved lower, pulling open your legs and hooking one over his shoulder, his nose brushing against your slit.

“Din,” you whispered urgently, hand going to his hair.

He did nothing but smile like the cheeky bastard he was. You needed him again more than before and were about to tell him that, but then his tongue licked from your entrance to your clit and your brain went blank. He moaned at the taste of you, tangy and sweet before digging into you like you were his last meal. Your hips jolted in his hold at the feel of him licking at your clit lightly.

“Just as I said,” he said, kissing your thigh. “Delicious.”

“Shit.” Your head tilted back. “You’re the one trying to kill _me_ Romeo.”

You yelped when he nipped at your leg. “I told you my name for a reason sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well I like the one I gave you more. You should think about changing it. Romeo has such a nice ring-”

He sucked your clit into his mouth, shutting you up instantly. A moan tore from your throat, your grip on his hair tightening as he continued to lick and suck at you like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. It had your eyes rolling back and hips bucking into his mouth until you were letting out a shout of his actual name. Pushing his tongue into you, he pressed his thumb against your clit urging you on more. A gasp left your lips, the rush of pleasure turning you deaf for a moment as he shoved you towards another orgasm. He moaned into you, drinking down everything you gave him as you came around his tongue.

You couldn’t move, feeling his tongue continually lick at you until he cleaned up every drop of your slick. Is this what feeling completely and utterly satisfied was? The hum of pleasure still running through your veins, your eyes closed until he was pressing his lips back to yours and coaxing you to come back. Brown eyes met yours as he smiled at you.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you whispered.

His smile only widened. “Yeah?”

You landed a weak hit to his chest. “Don’t get too cocky about it Romeo. I’ll do the same to you one day and then it’ll be my turn to be cocky.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he replied. “I’ll have you again right here if you keep talking that way.”

Running a hand through his hair you smiled against his lips. “Take me to the bed, give me five minutes to feel my legs again, and you’ve got a deal.”

\------

Okay, so it was more than five minutes. An hour of laying on the floor and talking ensued, listening to him tell you about how he bought the bar when he was twenty-four. How he didn’t know shit about running a business, but did his best and nearly burnt the place down multiple times on accident. And you enjoyed every word of it. You wanted to hear more about who he was before he met you, before he bought the bar, anything he’d tell you. That hour eventually turned into you making some type of food.

The best he had in the fridge was a frozen pizza which you put in his small dinky oven, his shirt the only thing you wore as he went downstairs to lock up and grab some whiskey. It was there that you told him a little more about yourself. About the friend who was engaged to be married who was technically your roommate. Where you grew up and the life you had back then, all the way down to your ex-boyfriend. He didn’t respond about your ex, but you saw the way he stiffened in his seat, most likely remembering the reason as to how you ended up in his bar in the first place.

Talking with him was nice. Almost as if you finally found the person who understood most if not all of what you were going through. He felt nice to be around.

Eventually you found your way to his bed, lying beside each other and speaking some more, his hand holding yours and arm around your waist. That’s where you were now. Watching him watch you and smiling stupidly because of it. How could one man make you feel to fucking happy? You couldn’t understand it, but you weren’t complaining in the slightest. After everything you went through, you deserved some happiness.

“I like your name,” you whispered.

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying! I really do like your name.”

He rolled on top of you, earning another peal of laughter when he dropped all his weight on you. “I’ll squeeze the truth out of you,” he threatened.

You shoved at his shoulders. “I’m not lying I promise.”

He rested his weight on his forearms, as you opened your legs and let him rest comfortably between them. You ran a finger along his nose, tracing it softly and watching as he closed his eyes from the sensation. On the first night you saw him you had your breath taken away and that didn’t seem to go away. Every time you looked his way, noticed something else about his features that you liked, you felt the air leave your lungs. He was a painting come to life, and you were lucky enough to be the viewer.

“Din Djarin,” you whispered. He opened his eyes again. “I love your name.”

You watched as his lips spread into a soft smile, this one reaching his eyes and lighting them up. He pressed a kiss to your wrist again.

“Come here.” You pulled him down towards you, pressing your lips against that smile of his and savoring it. Is this what was supposed to happen? The rush of joy, of nerves, of everything all at once heightened to a thousand? Maybe it was just something he caused.

You worked the button open on his pants and pulled him out, feeling he was already hard. Addicting, exciting, all of it is what you’d use to describe the feelings he gave to you. The ones you loved already. Stroking him you felt him thrust into your hand as he groaned against your lips. You were happy to just help him cum this way. His pleasure had now become pleasure of your own. Swiping your thumb over his tip you heard him pant against your skin, his hand stopping the movement of yours.

“I want to be inside you,” he said. “Please.”

The small _please_ is what did it, what broke you into pieces and put you back together again. You nodded, lining him with your entrance and moaning as he pushed into you again. Except his time there was no urgency, no rushed passion, just the feeling of both of you intertwining together. The absolute incapacitating bliss, mixing with the calm and peace of the two of you together. He thrusted slowly into you, his lips kissing yours before moving to any piece of skin he could reach.

"Anyone ever tell you-” you gasped when he hooked your leg around his hip, changing the angle and hitting right where you needed him. He did it again just to hear that sound.

“You have a habit of not finishing your thoughts.” He smiled into the kiss, letting out a laugh when you pinched him in the side. It turned to a moan when you rolled your hips against his.

“That’s your fault Romeo,” you replied.

“Shut up,” he whispered, laughing again into the kiss.

His pace sped up. This time each one of you chasing your own release and him rubbing quickly at your clit as he thrusted twice more into you, shattered you. You cried out his name, head titling back into the pillow as he nipped and sucked at your neck. He followed you soon after, once again coating your walls in his release. The orgasm was fast, quick, but still left you feeling incredibly satisfied. He didn’t pull away afterwards, choosing to continue to rest on top of you as you ran your hands through his hair.

“Can you feel your legs?”

You let out an ugly snort, that had him lifting his head and laughing with you. “You’re such a dick Din.”

He smiled, resting his chin against your chest and pressing a kiss to the side of your breast. “What?” you asked.

“I like the way you say my name,” he mumbled into your skin. “Sounds nice.”

You tugged him up towards your lips. “I like it too. But I have one question.” He hummed into the kiss. “Where the hell did you get the name Din?”

He took your nipple into his mouth and you hissed at the feeling, tugging sharply on his hair without meaning to. Was this his way of not answering the question? He sure did love to pick when and what he answered. You wanted him to keep going, but you also wanted an answer as well. Except he switched to the other side, laving his tongue over it and sucking it into his mouth.

“I feel like you just don’t like answering my questions,” you teased.

In response he thrusted shallowly into you, still enveloped in your walls. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Maybe?” You tapped his cheek bringing his attention back to you. “What is it some big secret?”

You waited for him to say something, but like always he stayed silent. Meanwhile you busied yourself with tracing the tattoos on his arms, the dark lines curving their way up to his shoulders. You wondered what they meant to him. Why did he get them? What was the story behind each one? Those were things you wanted to know just as badly as you wanted to know him. So, for once, you decided to just ask him rather than remain silent again, lost in your thoughts.

“What do they mean?” you asked, softly.

He glanced to the one on his left shoulder that you were running your fingers over. “My parents.”

Keeping your mouth shut you didn’t dare say anything that could push him back, that would make him want to not say anymore than he already had. This was him giving you another piece of himself, and you wanted it more than anything. Wanted to promise him that each piece, each sliver of himself that he gave to you, you’d protect like it was yours.

“They were killed when I was young.” That nearly stopped your heart, tears gathering in your eyes, but still you stayed silent. “I’ve done things that I’m not proud of. Stupid shit when I was younger that I knew they wouldn’t like and it came to a point where I wanted to be a person they would recognize again. It’s why I bought the bar, why I built it from the ground up...” He met your eyes. “I wanted to be a son they’d be proud of.”

“Din...” you whispered, a stray tear falling down your cheek.

“The left shoulder is for my father.” He took your hand and led it up his arm, letting your fingers trace each line. “They’re vines to represent his bond to me. Kind of like a tree’s roots; going around my shoulder to tie him to me somehow.” He moved your hand to his right side. “And the right is for my mother. It means the same thing, but I put her favorite flower, a tulip, in the center of it.”

He brought your hand to rest over his heart where the vines intertwined. “And here’s where they connect. To signify their bond to each other.”

You hadn’t realized how much you were crying as he explained it to you, but you let the tears fall down your cheeks freely. This man who had clearly been through a lifetime of pain, now was giving a part of himself to you. Somewhere inside you felt as if you didn’t deserve it, but you kept it close to you anyways, knowing that he didn’t choose to say these things for no reason.

Everything he said had a reason. Always.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out.

He wiped at your tears, pressing a kiss to your cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry cyar’ika,” he replied.

There was that language again, that you didn’t know. But you figured you’d ask him tomorrow, because right now he had shared enough, right now you just wanted to bask in everything he gave you. You kissed him again, trying to pour everything you felt into it and hoping he understood.

“You’re beautiful Din Djarin,” you breathed out.

There was a pause of silence as he rested his forehead against yours. “Kar'taylir,” he whispered. “To know is to hold in the heart.”

You pressed your palm against his heart even more attempting to form your lips around the foreign word. “Kar’taylir.”

This unknown feeling, this different tug on your heart you couldn’t call love. You knew what love was, knew that it hurt and that it was painful. No, this was something entirely different. A feeling that deep down you knew would be earth-shattering, would break you, make you, and fulfill you all at once. Perhaps it was love you couldn’t be sure, but for now you left it at that.

A mysterious feeling that you held onto dearly, because without it you knew you wouldn’t feel the same way.


End file.
